


Count the Stars

by AuthenticAussie



Series: something to do with how the galaxy moves [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6651625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthenticAussie/pseuds/AuthenticAussie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prodigal Captain Ace’s almost consistent string of near death experiences rarely bother him. He’s not one to care for a life that will be over soon.</p><p>A messy encounter with the Whitebeard pirates, however, leaves him stubbornly clinging to life.</p><p>They have a man who’s said to live forever, and Whitebeard himself is said to be unbeatable; two titles Ace wants for himself. His struggles to fight Whitebeard fail often, though, and soon he’s struggling to prevent himself from falling in love with this crew (and head over heels for the immortal man himself)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stronger than the stars

**Author's Note:**

> I FINALLY FINISHED A LONG FIC YOU GUYS LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT I'M GONNA DIE.
> 
> So soooo many thanks to lollessss, and susie-d-applesauce, and silmil-of-erebor who did plotting things and editing things and fixing things, and also thank you to lunarshores (even if you did say that having this turn into a _monster_ was my fault for writing so much angst //tuts and you) and loofahlover and babblebuzz for encouragement!! 
> 
> AND LAST OF ALL THANKS TO KYYHKY FOR DRAWING THE MOST GORGEOUS ART MY HEART COULD EVER HAVE WISHED FOR AHHH YOU GUYS ARE GONNA DIE ;P (I shall be embedding in the fic when kyyhky wakes up, and puttin' links to her tumblry post so you may all reblog it/stare at it in high def when she's done. (I know I did.) )
> 
> [[LOOKIE HERE GUYS :P]](http://kyyhky.tumblr.com/post/143376899595/count-the-stars-by-authenticaussie-our-one)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I also hope that you guys find some parts to love in this jimbly-jambly fic-of-mine (hint hint please tell me if you do, the review button is all pretty down there, and the tag system on tumblr is great for ranting, yeah??)

“ _Oxygen level critical. Please attach to nearest refill station immediately. Energy levels critical. Please attach to nearest recharge station immediately-_ ”

“Oh, don’t you think I’m fucking trying?” Ace growled, his hands skimming the glowing panels in front of him, and he could see his freckles flicker an angry red beneath the thin layer of his holoprojector, the colour rolling up his arms in a way that made his skin shift before he could tamp it down.

It was already hard to breathe, and he’d been scanning the nearby space for _any_ sort of refill system, but so far he’d come up with nothing. His scanners hadn’t picked up any signs of life, either, and though asking for help hadn’t been his preferred course of action, it was still better than nothing.

As the beeping from his onboard navigation system increased in frequency, Ace could feel his heart start to sink.

He was going to die here, robbed of air and light as the computer’s systems shut down, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Breath shallow, Ace stumbled from the computer. His fingers fumbled for one of the spare oxygen tanks that his crew had hopefully left before he’d forced them to go, knowing the damaged air recycling system would kill faster if there were more people. The plan had been for him to find a station where he could refill, or for his crew to return with some help, but there was no help in sight and the oxygen levels had dropped below critical two minutes ago.

He somehow managed to find an oxygen tank in the pitiful emergency lights and with a silent prayer he grabbed it, slipping the mask over his face. Nanotech rippled over his arms, encasing him in a protective suit and allowing him to breathe in a desperate gasp of air.

Relief made him almost heady, but at most he had twenty minutes, and couldn’t hang around. The rotorscope had stopped working a while back, and he’d turned off gravity to try and save power, but now it meant that if he ended up away from one of the walls he’d be stuck floating around, even more helpless and in trouble than he was.

Taking another deep breath, Ace carefully let it out, controlling his breathing as much as possible. He had to keep breathing, lest he cause lung overexpansion and kill himself due to the pressure that’d started to build now most of his ship’s systems were off.

Pushing himself back to the control panel, he locked his knees underneath the bench and surveyed the panel, trying to figure out if there was any way to flush the system and get himself just a _little_ more oxygen, or a _little_ more fuel.

A dot pulsed to life on the far edge of his scanner, and Ace felt his heart leap. Scrabbling for the radar, he slammed his hand down on the comm. “Space sector three point nine, this is the _Ace of Spades_ , requesting immediate assistance. _Please._ I’m four clicks from you and running out of air and the emergency shuttles are both gone.”

The comm. crackled, static filling his ship, and for a second, Ace was afraid that he wouldn’t get an answer. Then, a cool voice spoke. “Hello, _Ace of Spades_ , this is the _Leyza_. We’re coming your way.”

Ace gave a quiet sob of relief, his head falling forwards. He could feel his thankful smile grow into a grin, and stood from the control panel, eyes tracking the _Leyza’_ s quick progress on his scanner. Seeing it flicker into range, he looked up, watching her come closer through the wide windows set into the cockpit.

The ship drew closer, engines still powered, and Ace frowned, slowly moving away from the large screens. Why weren’t they slowing down-?

The ships crashed together with a sound that made Ace’s head ring, and he was sent flying backwards, skull cracking against the hull of his ship. Dizziness clouded his senses, and he began to float away, unattached to anything.

His hands fumbled desperately for something to grab, but he was too late to reach the rungs set into the side of his ship. Set adrift by the crash, Ace struggled to turn around, hearing the swish of an opening air lock depressurising the main cabin.

The long nose of a gun barrel poked through the door, and soon after came the sleek body of what almost resembled a lizard. _Raiders,_ he thought with a sneer of disgust, taking note of the magnetic boots that kept the large creatures stuck to the floor while he was stuck drifting.

Several more followed the first, and Ace couldn’t help but swallow a knot in his throat, knowing his chances of survival kept shrinking. Even if gravity had been on to help him, he was still only (mostly) human, and against five heavily armed Komadi Raiders, he had no chance.

Unless-  

Ace shook his head viciously, driving the thought from his mind. He _couldn’t._

It’d kill him, through lack of oxygen or just as it ate away at his body, but-

But right now, he didn’t have much of a choice.

One of the Komadi started to look up, and Ace gritted his teeth, hands curling into fists. His legs bunched beneath him, and then a burst of fire sent him straight to the floor, sending two of the Raiders sprawling. They _weren’t_ going to touch his ship, and as long as he got this over with fast, he’d be able to save some of the pitiful oxygen still left in his mask.

His body, on the other hand…

Ace shoved the thought from his head, using fire to drive extra force into his kick, and another Komadi hit the ground. Their feet were torn from the metal and it was sent floating away.

He didn’t stay to watch his efforts pay off, however, already lashing out again, and this time he managed to pull away the third Komadi’s gun, melting it in his bare hands.

“Don’t blow up my ship, you goddamn scavengers,” he growled angrily, feeling metal drip down his palm and onto the floor as the gun melted. Fire flared between his fingertips, and he surged forwards, the stunned Komadi no match for his speed.

Half-human though he may have been, Ace had trained his strength till it could almost match his mother’s, and his father’s genes (loathe though he was to admit it,) gave Ace more than a few advantages while fighting as well.

The Komadi were sent flying backwards, a few sent straight into their ship while others littered the floor around Ace’s cockpit, but before Ace could even feel satisfaction, _Spade_ rocked to the side, sending him floating off again. He only barely managed to grab a Komadi and used it to push off to the ceiling, latching an arm around one of the rungs.

The ear-splitting screech of his computer’s alarm made Ace wince in pain, and the Komadi – those still conscious at least – let out whining sounds, the loud alert deafening to their sensitive hearing. Some gathered up their fallen comrades, dragging them from Ace’s ship, while others merely sprinted for the door, ignoring Ace entirely.

 _Good to know they hate that,_ he thought, but was more distracted by the pain of the alarm echoing in his ringing ears.

Sudden, terrified realisation hit him a second later, however, and he pushed off the ceiling, trying to grab one of the fleeing Komadi. They were going to _leave_ him. That alarm was screaming at him because he had no more time; he was going to die unless they took him with them-

Ace was kicked in the face, his desperation making him sloppy, and was sent reeling backwards, clutching his cracked mask. A panicked prayer to the stars flew through his head, but Ace had little time to vocalise it, trying to scramble to his ship’s airlock.

It slid closed with a quiet click, too quiet for the death sentence it had handed him.

“No,” he breathed, trying to figure out how everything had gone to shit in such a short amount of time. He could see the Komadi begin to pull away, their engine backlash making _Spade_ rock, and couldn’t help but pull himself to the windows, watching their ship leave him for dead.

A slow shadow crept over his control panel.

Ace’s eyes followed it, brow knitting in confusion, and then he slowly tilted his head up, gulping. That ship-

That ship was _huge._

The white underside alone was easily ten or twenty times Spade’s length, and Ace stared in absolute amazement, unable to comprehend how he hadn’t seen this whale of a cruiser with his scanner.

She slowed to an idle stop, and Ace finally noticed that her cannons were prepped. Horror filled his chest, and he dived for another oxygen mask, taking a deep breath from the one currently over his face that was leaking. He started to let it slowly out, fumbling for another unused mask, and finally grabbed one, pulling it over his head frantically. His lungs ached, just barely, but if what he suspected was about to happen actually happened-

Well, lung overexpansion would be the least of his worries.

Ace heard the quietest popping sound, and screwed his eyes shut.

The Komadi ship exploded brilliantly, turning from a black metal monstrosity to a fireball in less than a second, but Ace hadn’t stayed to watch; he threw himself backwards, forearms crossed in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

The backlash of the fiery explosion rocked through the _Spade_ , and then the surge of displaced energy hit her exterior and the glass shattered. With the sudden pressure change, the rest of the _Spade_ crumpled like a dying star, metal twisted and torn into a hulking mess.

Recoil sent Ace flying even further backwards, faster than he’d wanted to go, and though his fire melted the glass shards and the metal that threatened to pierce his skin or bodysuit, he’d forgotten to protect his head.

With a sharp crack, everything went dark.

* * *

 The ruined husk of his _Spade_ swam into vision as he slowly awoke, and the silence rung in his ears almost worse than the computer’s alarm had.

" _T_ -minus _two point five and counting down. It is highly recommended that you seek immediate tank refill._ ”

So he hadn’t been unconscious for too long, then. Only two or three minutes, at the very most, especially when Ace took into account that his crew always forgot to completely fill up the oxygen tanks. He tried to move his head, but his neck ached from whiplash, and he was only able to turn enough to see that his arm, while caught, was the only thing that had prevented him from floating away from the _Spade_ ’s wreckage _._

“ _T_ _-minus two point four and counting down. It is highly recommended that you seek immediate tank refill._ ”

“Shut up,” Ace slurred, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes. He knew from experience that his hands would still be burning hot, and placing them against the glass was just a sure-fire way to have the glass explode.

“That’s no way to talk to a would-be rescuer, yoi.”

Ace’s eyes snapped open completely, adrenaline coursing through him like a sudden shot of lightning, and his gaze caught on a figure hovering in front of him.

They were obviously alien, body long and sleek and elegant, and Ace watched as they drifted to land in front of him, the subtle _wrongness_ of how they bent their knees screaming at him that this was a creature he should fear. A predator of the sky, with all the cunning that evolution had offered humanity.

“You’re the one who wrecked my ship,” he growled, fighting to pull his hand free. He couldn’t be caught _stuck_ while someone potentially dangerous was free.

“That was a mistake. We were chasing down the others who tried to attack us, yoi.”

“Yeah, Komadi do that,” Ace grumbled, and finally managed to pull his hand free, latching onto the thin metal that was all that separated him from the looming expanse of space. His feet drifted to the side before he could pull them back against the thin piece of scarred metal.

“You need to come with me,” the stranger continued, and Ace bristled, paranoia tracing cold fingers down his spine.

“No,” he said. “No way in hell.”

“You’ll die,” the stranger said, and Ace caught the brief flicker of feathers atop their head, flared in what seemed something like worry. “Let us repay you for accidentally destroying your ship.”

His survival instinct warred against life-long fear, but the choice was suddenly taken away  with a _click_ that he barely heard. The oxygen in his mask started to thin, and Ace felt his heart skip a beat as he barely managed to wheeze in a breath.

“I swear to you, I don’t want to hurt you,” the stranger said desperately, moving closer with hands outstretched, “But please _,_ yoi _._ If you don’t come with me, you’ll die.”

“Why should I trust you?” Ace managed to get out, gasping for air like a fire starved of all fuel, and the stranger paused, before tracing their hands along their arms.

Nanotech disguised as cloth rippled behind their touch, revealing the smooth expanse of almost human-like skin, flushed a too-bright orange. Ace had _never_ seen a species with skin like this stranger’s, fluctuating between subtle shades.

“My heart is literally shown on my sleeve,” the stranger bit out, hands poised at the crook of their elbow. “And this is the colour of my fear. I don’t want you to die out here.”

Ace swallowed, trying to breathe slowly and feeling his oxygen slip away with every inhale. “This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he said, before stretching his hand out.

The stranger finally gave a smile filled with relief, but Ace was more preoccupied with watching their skin flicker to a water-like blue. It certainly looked more natural on this alien’s skin than the colour before, but Ace still couldn’t help regard them warily. Just because it seemed as though they were telling the truth, didn’t mean they could be trusted; Ace had learnt that lesson from long practice.

Long digits grasped his outstretched hand, wrapping around his wrist with a gentle, deceiving strength. They were obviously aware of their own power, but were likely unaware of Ace’s own abilities.

 _That’s gonna come in handy later,_ Ace thought in the back of his head, watching his vision darken and trying not to feel fear thrum in his chest. The stranger, sensing his growing distress, started to move a bit faster, tugging Ace closer and shifting their shoulders to reveal a pair of ethereal wings that made Ace’s breath catch.

Their wings flickered almost as though they were made from the flames of a sun, but the blue colour only reminded Ace of the glory of a planet-side sky. He could see each individual lick of blue fire as though it were a glossy feather, and in a seemingly effortless movement the stranger had launched both himself and Ace into the stars.

He couldn’t help yelping, eyes squeezed shut as he latched onto the stranger’s nanotech-covered arm, regardless of the knowledge that if the stranger chose, it could quite easily read his DNA even through the spacesuit Ace wore. A more pressing concern happened to be the fact that Ace could be dropped into the depths of _space_ on the whims of this stranger.

Ace felt more than he saw when they entered the ship’s gravity rig, feeling his clothes start to weigh on him and the almost imperceptible jolt as the stranger switched from flying to gliding. Praying that his head wasn’t about to explode, he quickly tugged off his mask one-handed, and breathed in a thankful gasp of fresh air.

It even _smelled_ fresh, so these guys either had just been planetside, or were rich enough to have a proper recycling system instead of the piece of shit Ace had used. Just his luck – being picked up by a leisure cruise. He’d _never_ live this down when his crew got back.

If they got back and didn’t assume him dead, that was.

Ace sobered at the thought, his earlier giddy relief fading, and forced his eyes open. Wood – _real_ **_wood,_** he thought in amazement – was coming up beneath his booted feet, and he and the stranger landed with a thump. He almost fell on his ass, limbs cramping from the sudden shift, but managed to push past the pain, refusing to be seen weak.

Though these people may have saved him, Ace wasn’t sure of their intentions, and he refused to be caught off-guard just because of assumptions made on his part.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes as he looked around, however.  Every single being aboard the ship carried Whitebeard’s insignia.

Ace felt fear coil in his belly, heart jumping to his throat, but couldn’t stop himself from looking around, drinking in the sight of the enemies all around him. They were busy congratulating their friend – Ace’s rescuer (though really, _were_ they his rescuer?) – and hadn’t seemed to notice him yet.

Ace noticed them, however. Noticed the weapons they all carried, noticed the fierce grins they wore, noticed the unhidden bulge of muscle, and, most damning of all, the giant that towered above them all.

 _Whitebeard,_ Ace thought, and before he could even think of what he was doing – and how _stupid_ a plan it was – he’d grabbed the closest weapon and leapt at Whitebeard. A battle cry was half out his lips when he suddenly found himself flying backwards, pain blossoming in his stomach.

He hit the wall with a dull thunk that made his headache, and rocked unsteadily to his feet, holding out the knife he’d grabbed and refusing to be cowed by the curious gazes of Whitebeard’s crew.

As the world swam in front of him, the alien who’d kidnapped him landed in front of the crowd, face drawn into a tight, angry frown. Ace snarled at him, hand tightening around his knife.

“What in the heavens do you think you’re doing, yoi?” the stranger asked, and Ace could tell they were attempting to keep their tone balanced. However, he could see their eyes narrow and red slowly slide across their exposed cheekbones.

He almost staggered while he tried to take a threatening step forwards, and rested his palm on the wood behind him, trying to balance. The crowd stepped forwards in his moment of weakness, likely to try and take advantage of it, and Ace growled, brandishing his knife again. “Back off! I won’t- you won’t-”

The world gave another dizzying tip, and Ace realised too late that it wasn’t his body adjusting to oxygen again. He’d passed out before his head hit the floor.

* * *

“Wake up…hours, maybe? He…shock and trauma, likely…Shouldn’t have…probably unstable too…”

A tiny spark of long held paranoia flared in the back of Ace’s drowsy head. There were people around him, in a place that smelled like an infirmary-

People who weren’t his crew.

It took more effort than he wanted to force his eyes open, and when he did he suddenly wished he’d kept them closed. The groan he let out when his eyes adjusted to the light meant everyone’s attention was on him, and he could feel his muscles tense.

“Sleeping beauty’s awake, then,” a brunet with black patches on their skin remarked, giving him a wide grin, and Ace felt his lip curl. Judging from what he knew of Whitebeard’s crew, the man in front of him looked to be Thatch, commander of the fourth division. He was said to be a master swordsman, and there had been rumours for years of him being able to cut down even the most fluid Molecular with little trouble.

As Ace tried to move away from the people crowding his bed, however, he heard a clanking sound and felt his wrist jolt to a stop.

They’d handcuffed him.

Ace’s lip curled further, and he manoeuvred around his cuffed wrist, giving the people of Whitebeard’s crew hovering around his bedside the worst glare he could manage.

“Didn’t want you attempting to murder anyone again,” a slight figure said from his left, arms crossed over their chest, and Ace couldn’t help but let his glare abate in confusion. By the stars, what were they _wearing?_ What was that stupid puffy thing? They looked human enough, but Ace was definitely questioning their fashion sense. It looked like something he’d only seen in museums, not on a person’s body.

“Ah, Haruta, have some faith in our guest, c’mon!”

“Guest?” Ace parroted, unable to understand the audacity of this crew. “ _Guest?_ ” he could feel sparks grow by his fingertips, and curled his hands into fists to stop them, instead rattling the handcuffs. “I’m handcuffed to a bed!”

“We have very good reason for that.”

“For blowing up my ship, kidnapping me, and then holding me prisoner?”

Thatch looked insulted, and pressed a hand to his chest.“We rescued you!”

“You blew up my ship!” Ace repeated, and tried to ignore the ache in his heart that came with those words. “You’re the reason I _needed_ a rescue!”

Both of them paused, and the one he’d heard been called Haruta shifted awkwardly before mumbling, “You’know, he does have a point, Thatch.”

“He tried to kill pops!” Thatch said indignantly, but Haruta only shrugged.

“And we blew up his ship. Your point?”

“Murder is slightly different in comparison to destruction of property.”

“It’s not murder if he’ll return the favour,” Ace growled, “this was just pre-emptive self-defence.”

“We don’t even know who you _are_ ,” Thatch said, leaning forwards and gripping the rail of Ace’s bed, and Ace barely resisted the urge to kick out.

Instead, he sneered. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

Thatch groaned in frustration, rocking back on his heels, and Haruta laid their hand on his shoulder.

“Would it kill you to give us your name?” Thatch complained.

 _Yes,_ Ace thought, but kept his mouth shut this time and refused to give them the satisfaction of an answer.

Before they could continue their questioning – or decide to change how they tried to get information from him – someone stepped inside the room. He was about Thatch’s height, with dark hair tied back in a bandana and missing teeth. Ace narrowed his eyes distrustfully, already hating that there were two Whitebeard pirates in the room; why was there a need to add a third?

“Hey, Thatch,” the man said, grinning, and Ace tried to pull his shackled wrist closer so he could curl up further on the bed. He refused to give them his attention, only watching them warily from the corner of his eye. “Oyaji was lookin’ for you.”

 _Oyaji?_ Ace thought, giving an internal snort. _They take their ‘family’_ _thing too far._

He’d heard tales of the Whitebeard pirates – when one was hunting them, it was for the best to keep abreast of all rumours – but the most common was how Whitebeard and his crew considered themselves a family. In such a large crew, with so many allies, how on earth could everyone consider Whitebeard their ‘father’?

He hadn’t expected to actually run into them so quickly, though. Ace had only just recently finished upgrading the Spade for his eventual attack on Whitebeard, and he’d been travelling for a year and a half. He’d wanted more experience and knowledge before he attacked the damnable Whitebeard pirates, and proved that he could take down even the “man stronger than the stars”. Then the Starfleet would _have_ to leave him alone, and he’d be free to travel without fear.

He’d wanted more _answers_ before he attacked Whitebeard.

He’d wanted a cure.

Ace shook his head, banishing the sick feeling in his throat and refusing to seek out what part of his body had started to deteriorate when he’d used his fire to fight back the Komadi and protect himself from the _Spades’_ explosion.

“Oy, you lot!” someone snapped, and Ace turned his attention towards an ambiguously gendered alien with four arms and squishy looking skin. His brow knit at the sight of their almost see-through purple skin, and he mentally made a note to stay away from them. They were probably flammable, and he’d had enough accidents while learning to properly control his powers. “Doc says get out – unless _you_ want to be put on one of these beds!”

Thatch gave a yelp, and the other one laughed, patting Thatch on the back. “C’mon Thatch, I don’t wanna end up like him.” The stranger inclined their head at Ace, and Ace only just barely resisted the urge to growl, instead glaring at them as they left.

“Hello, honey,” the other alien said when they were left alone, giving him a soft smile. They folded one set of their arms into long sleeves and disguised their extra limbs as they continued, and Ace couldn’t deny his quiet fascination when they were almost completely hidden, “How’re you feeling?”

“Do you want an honest answer or are you gonna hurt me until the answer is “I feel like shit”?”

The alien looked taken aback, their long lashes fluttering in surprise. “What?” they said, “What in all the stars would make you think that I’d-?” they shook their head, banishing the thought, and pulled their smile on again. “My name is Izo. You’re currently on the _Moby Dick,_ in the Andromeda system. Do you remember what happened to-”

“Yeah, I remember,” Ace said, tugging again on the handcuff and trying to see if he could wriggle his wrist free. If all else failed, he was just going to break the damn bed and get back to his earlier attempt at attacking Whitebeard. “Komadi ship went kaboom, _my_ ship went kaboom, asshole that looked like a bird kidnapped me, brought me here, I tried to kill Whitebeard, went down thanks to,” _my stupid narcolepsy,_ Ace thought with an angry curse, “the oxygen shift, and then woke up here. That good enough for you to check that I don’t have amnesia, or am crazy?”

“I’m not sure I can get rid of the ‘crazy’ part,” Izo said with a small, teasing smile, “I mean, you did just confess to trying to attack my captain.”

“And as soon as I get free, I’m going to do it again,” Ace spat, feeling the bed frame finally shift as a screw got worked loose. He had to hide a grin, instead directing a cocky smirk at Izo.

“You shall _not_ ,” said someone from behind him, hitting him upside the head, and Ace began to splutter, looking around for this new arrival. With bright red hair and lipstick, she probably wouldn’t have looked out of place in an asteroid race. As it was, her outfit of choice appeared to be a white labcoat, splattered with what looked like soot. “You’re lucky to be alive, brat. Don’t think I’m going to just let you go running around.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ace mumbled, glaring at her. “Besides, what makes you think you can stop me?” she laughed at him then, and Ace bristled, glaring at her back as she waved at Izo and then left the room.

“You shouldn’t try to fight Analise,” Izo said, grinning slightly, “She’ll blow you to smithereens.”

 _As if,_ Ace thought. If there was one good thing about his stupid abilities, it was that he rarely got any sort of grievous injury. It drained his energy, and usually left him spattered with holes that wouldn’t heal, but as he began to explore the recess of space, he found that such an ability had started to come in more and more handy.

Even if he _still_ couldn’t control the automatic shift into his more intangible form when he was attacked.

“Why am I here?” he asked cautiously, “Why are _you_ here?”

Izo held up a small key with a smile, as though he’d been waiting for the question. “As long as you promise not to attack anyone, I came to let you out so you can talk to Pops. And, just in case you get any ideas – that warning is because if you attack anyone, they won’t hesitate to throw you overboard, and this time Marco won’t fly out and save you.”

Ace scoffed, nose crinkling into a sneer. “Fine,” he said, holding his wrist out. “I promise not to attack anyone.” _For today, at least._

The key gave a quiet click, and then the handcuff fell from his wrist. He rubbed his arm reflexively, feeling the familiar dips under his jacket and the holoprojector where his body had been eaten away by his abilities.

It sucked sometimes, being molecularly unstable. As if his slowly deteriorating body wasn’t reason enough for despondency, he also ran the risk of potentially imploding. His crew were more than brave, to fly on a ship with someone always a few steps away from blowing up like a star.     

Obviously they’d only done a rudimentary check, or Ace likely wouldn’t have woken up so pleasantly. If they’d seen the marks of his power-

Ace shook his head to get rid of the thought, swinging his legs off the bed and silently thanking the doctor for leaving his stuff alone – though, he promised himself, that would be the only thanks he’d give them. He grabbed his boots from beneath the bed and laced them on. One of his knives was still hidden in the heel, but he’d left his large one on the _Spade,_ so that was likely gone forever.

Izo stood to the side, waiting with a patient smile, and Ace scowled further at the sight of it. This guy was just going to piss him off, he could tell. When Izo could see that Ace was ready to go he set off through the door, obviously expecting Ace to follow. For half a second, Ace considered going through one of the other doors in their medbay, but Izo cast a glance behind him and Ace heaved a mental sigh, promising to scope out good places to attack from later.

They were stupid enough to trust an enemy on their ship, and Ace was going to make sure they regretted it.

If, of course, he could even find his way around.

His head was spinning when they finally came to the main deck, corridors a confusing map in his head. They’d built their ship almost like a maze, and while Ace had seen good places to launch an attack from, he’d also noted that more than a few had disguised second entrances that they could trap him with.

A sun was drifting past them on the left, and Ace had to squint even with the sunshields raised, trying to adjust to the sudden shift in light. That was his only excuse for not noticing the slobbery _beast_ making a steady trot in their direction.

“What is _that?_ ” Ace shrieked, scrambling backwards and hitting the door behind him. The creature began to wag it’s tail, slobbery mouth stretched wide, and Ace felt his heart hammer at the sight of the sharp teeth. He may have been almost invincible, but he didn’t want to try seeing if he could survive a bite from those _fangs._

“Stefan?” Izo asked, looking at him curiously, and reached out his arms to pet the thing on its furry head.

 _Oh Stars, it was a piece of their attacking weaponry,_ Ace thought, trying to figure out if he could escape the presence of this creature. It looked highly unlikely, especially as the thing began to amble towards him, long pink tongue outstretched. He was doomed.

_Doomed._

The warm, slobbery spit of the creature lathered itself over his shirt and the arm he raised to protect himself, and he shoved the creature away, hearing it whine. “Did you just poison me?” he growled, shooting Izo a glare. “Was this your plan, to make me believe that I wasn’t going to be attacked and then take me out without having to lift a finger?”

Izo’s expression grew bemused.

“Honey, Stefan couldn’t hurt you even if he tried. I mean, sure his teeth may leave a bit of a mark, but he’s a big softie!” he gave a low whistle, and the creature – _Stefan_ , if Ace could believe such a name – trotted over to Izo to get it’s ears fondled and fur played with. “Hmm? You’re just a big wuss, aren’t you Stefan?”

Ace stared in absolutely horrified confusion, trying to wipe the slobber off his arm before it dried and potentially killed him. No matter what Izo said, he wasn’t going to take any chances with these people.

They’d probably set plans in place as soon as they found out who he was or what he could do, anyway – he was dangerous to all of them, no matter how many powerful aliens and people they kept on this ship.

He was dangerous, and worst of all, no-one could trust him; he couldn’t even trust himself, for the fear that one day he’d go supernova and wipe out a whole star system in the process. All he had to prove he wouldn’t end up killing everyone he loved in the process was a vague promise in a glitchy message that his father had given him, that he’d just _know_ when the time came and be able to control the explosion of energy.

But Ace had never given Roger’s words any respect, and he’d be damned if he started now. Roger had _also_ told him that Ace wouldn’t die from his destabilisation and look where he was now - slowly wasting away, his abilities over fire both a gift and a curse.

They’d started crossing the top half of the ship while Ace was reminiscing,and Ace tried to concentrate on the ship’s design, and the simple elegance of an earth-based sailing ship with oxygen filters and a gravity rig, but everywhere he looked he was met with curious gazes. He bit the inside of his cheek, hands bunching into fists as he tucked them into his pockets and stubbornly stared forwards. He could feel their stares on his back like an itch, and he hated the feeling of being watched like some strange carnival creature.

Izo stopped in front of a large door, and unfolded one of his lower sets of arms to knock upon the door. “Oyaji,” he called through the wood, “I brought our castaway.”

 _Castaway,_ Ace thought with a quiet snort, expression souring. _Through no fault of your own, of course._

_Dick._

“Come in, Izo!” a booming voice called cheerily, and Izo opened the door, motioning for Ace to step forwards. Though hesitant to expose his back, Ace grit his teeth and forced his feet forwards. If everything went to hell, he at least had his powers to help him out; none of them knew of his affinity with fire, after all.

Whitebeard sat in the middle of the room, beaming down at Ace and Izo with a large grin. To his side stood Thatch and the alien who’d saved Ace from a potential death via asphyxiation. Blue cloth lay draped around his frame, but Ace could still see the faint shimmer of nanotech over the visible patches of his skin.

He couldn’t see the glimmering wings from before, though, and though he quashed it quickly, disappointment still surged in his chest. In an effort to distract himself he squinted and tried to run through his mental list of Whitebeard crew bounties and photos, trying to place the alien in front of him.

However, the only bounty picture Ace could think of that matched the alien in front of him, was-

Marco the Phoenix. Whitebeard’s first mate.

Marco’s gaze flicked up to him quickly, and then down to a holopad he held cradled in one arm, ignoring the proceedings completely. Ace bristled but held his tongue, staring Whitebeard down with a glare that promised him pain if he tried to make fun of Ace.  

“This is our captain, Whitebeard.” Izo said, giving a sweeping gesture in Whitebeard’s direction.

“I know who he is,” Ace grumbled, glaring. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Then would you do us the favour of telling us who _you_ are?” Thatch asked, blinking at him innocently, but Ace only snapped out,

“None of your business, asshole.”      

“Portgas D. Ace.”

Ace felt his body jolt in surprise, and narrowed his eyes, pinning Marco with a glare that would’ve curdled the guts of any ordinary man but only had Marco staring back at him impassively.

Whitebeard looked down at Marco, curiosity in his gaze. “ _Portgas D._ Ace?”

Without answering Marco turned his holopad towards Whitebeard’s gaze, letting Ace see a glimpse of his bounty poster before Marco pulled it away.

 _Stars,_ he cursed to himself, knowing now that if they chose to dig a little further they’d easily find hints of his powers. Nothing more than that, though - Ace was too careful.     

“What of it, old man?” Ace growled, eyes narrowed as he rocked back on his heels, but Whitebeard only grinned at him.

“Nothing, brat. An interesting name for an interesting face, at most.”

Ace could feel his freckles glow, heating on his face, and gritted his teeth, almost snarling. “Fuck you,” he growled, “I’ll take your head, old man! I’ll prove you’re not the strongest man in the stars!”

Whitebeard had the audacity to _laugh_ at him, shoulders shaking and head thrown back. “I’d like to see you _try_ brat!”

Ace snarled, launching himself forwards, and though he could see the three commanders in the room tense, none of them moved a muscle to stop him. Instead it was the back of Whitebeard’s hand that hit his body and sent him crashing through the walls.

“Are you okay?” Thatch called, peering through the hole Ace had made. With a groan Ace grabbed the banister to help him to his feet and flipped them off.

“Fuck you,” he growled lowly, teeth bared. Thatch started clambering through the hole, jumping to the deck next to him and then grinning like an idiot.

Ace thought he’d like to rephrase his earlier thought about Izo being the most irritating person on board this ship. Thatch was easily coming up a very very close contender.

“How’s about a tour?” Thatch said, leaning on the balcony next to Ace and acting like the very epitome of a ray of sunshine, grinning so brightly Ace was almost afraid he’d go blind.

“Fuck off,” he growled again, and Thatch drooped, giving him a pout. Ace shied away from him, staring at Thatch with no small amount of confusion. What was _wrong_ with this man? Ace’d thought Luffy was a bit thick, but this guy-

He heaved an angry sigh, making a short gesture with his hand, and Thatch seemed to perk again, excitedly moving forwards and chattering. Most of it went in one ear and out the other, but Ace hadn’t agreed so he could listen to a Whitebeard pirate blather about their ship’s weaponry in an attempt to intimidate him. He was going to find the best places to attack Whitebeard from, and the best places to hide; Thatch would be a good helper in figuring out where some of those places were, even if he didn’t know it.

”Why’s no-one strapped down?” Ace interrupted, in the middle of Thatch’s attempt at describing the large amphitheatre set in the middle of the deck where Whitebeard apparently usually sat so he could talk to his “sons”. Even if he already suspected the answer, he didn’t want to hear Thatch go on about Whitebeard like he was trying to sell the idea of a father to Ace. “Do you lot have localised gravity disrupters or somethin’?”

“We’ve got gravity rigs on the ship,” Thatch explained, recovering quickly for someone who’d been cut off in the middle of a sentence. “It’s a bit easier, when some of your crewmates are potentially unstable.”

Ace’s head snapped to him in an automatic move that almost gave him whiplash. “What do you mean ‘unstable’?”

Thatch laughed, seeming to take his jumpy reaction as worry. “Chill, man! We got a few moleculars aboard, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I was talkin’ more about guys like Izo. Few of ‘em have grav. disrupters and our own gravity rigs, because they’re used to gravity being so much heavier on their planets. If they didn’t, they’d probably turn to goo and float off. Well, I mean, Izo wouldn’t float off per say, but Izo likes having a form.” Thatch’s smile turned wicked and teasing. “You should try poking him some time. He’s squishy, it’s _hilarious._ He gets pissed that Marco’s got abs, even though their species are from the same solar system and everything.”

 _So no-one like me, then._ Ace thought to himself with a bitter internal laugh, and let Thatch’s words fade out again as they made their way through the ship. Nothing else caught his interest until they were deep in the ship, and a low purring rumble met his ears. He frowned, and Thatch’s grin seemed to widen.

They stepped through a door Thatch opened with a flourish, and Ace was left speechless, devoid of the insulting remark he’d been about to make.

In front of him stretched a series of turbines and complex machines, built into the very ship and reinforcing her defenses even while they kept her running. He had some knowledge of engineering, considering how many repairs the _Spade_ needed after they got into fights, but he’d never seen _anything_ like this before. He knew that it would likely be incredibly complicated, but he just didn’t know what it was all _for._

“Like ‘em?” Thatch asked from over Ace’s shoulder, grinning with pride. “These babies were Marco’s design! Well, okay, not completely Marco’s design, but close enough. He reverse engineered his Phoenix suit to fix ‘em up so that _Moby_ could run pretty much without fuel. Takes all the background radiation from stars or comets we pass and cycles it through the system, and ba-bam! Immediate energy!”

Thatch’s voice was bursting with pride, but all Ace could think about was the phrasing of what he’d said. ‘ _Phoenix suit’_ , as though what gave Marco his abilities and his epithet wasn’t based on his species but rather what he wore. He’d _seen_ Marco’s wings, and that hadn’t looked like any ‘suit’ he’d ever seen before.

“This is part of the workshop,” Thatch was explaining, waving at one of the figures far away, and Ace took a hesitant step forwards, fingertips brushing the well-kept machinery.

“It’s nice,” he said, feeling as though the words were drawn out of him unwillingly and gritting his teeth against the admittance.

“Feel free to come back if you want. Albia can give you some work if you’re bored!”

Thatch was already moving away, intent on continuing his ‘tour’, and Ace cast one last longing glance at the hiding places he could see hidden amongst the constantly turning machines before he turned and followed after Thatch.

At least he knew where this place was now, and that it existed - he could easily find it again, with the map he’d started to build in his head.

The rest of their tour didn’t last very long, with Thatch showing him the last of the rooms he hadn’t seen and telling him where to find Whitebeard if he needed help (hah, as if Ace was going to use that information for anything other than trying to kill him) before showing him to the barracks.

“I’m always more than willing to help out,” Thatch said, as he gestured Ace to a spare bed and then stepped from the room. “So just ask if you need anything, yeah?”

Ace snorted, giving Thatch a look from under his drawn eyebrows. “Don’t count on it,” he said, before slamming the door shut in Thatch’s face.

‘Dinner’s in an hour!” Thatch called through the door, but Ace shook his head and ignored the words. As _if_ he’d show up and eat their food - the chance was way to high that they’d take the chance and drug him, to dump him in an escape pod somewhere and have him out of their hair with very little fuss.

It was that very reason that also had Ace scanning the ceiling until he picked out the oxygen filter in the middle of the room. He’d already tested the side tables, and most were bolted down and locked shut, so he couldn’t just drag them over to where he needed them. Eyeing the bunk beds, Ace shimmied up the nearest ladder and haphazardly reached for the filter’s grate, trying to see if he could get to it from the bed. His fingertips only barely grazed it, and with an angry growl and a quick glance around he leaned back on his haunches.  

He glared at it, but the need for privacy and protection outweighed the cost of using his powers. If he didn’t use them, the Whitebeard pirates could easily have him cornered or trapped in this room, and he’d be screwed even faster. His fingertips flickered to flame, and with a soft sigh he let warmth overwhelm him.

Ace’s body dissolved into fire with ease, and though it took him a moment to gather his head, unused to being in this form, he easily floated upwards to fit through the grate. Once on the other side he shifted back to normal, glad that he’d never had compunctions about small spaces.  

He only had a few inches of room to squirm through, but he’d spent more than a few years repairing Masrilan fire tunnels as a child and compared to that these passages were practically spacious.  

Finding himself in a cross-section with more space than the room had held, Ace let a soft sigh escape him, curling up and screwing  his eyes shut. All his emotions seemed to hit him at once, sped by the silence, and he latched his hands around his shins, burying his face in his knees. Ace’s breathing sounded ragged in his ears, but then again it probably matched his torn apart heart, and his torn apart ship.

His precious _Spade_...torn to pieces because Ace’s oxygen filter had malfunctioned and the computer hadn’t alerted them to the break until they were too far away from a spaceport. Torn apart because Ace hadn’t realised the ship he’d hailed was a Komadi one.

Torn apart by the Whitebeard pirates, and now here he was - essentially their prisoner.

He heaved another ragged breath, screwing his eyes shut and trying to get his emotions tightly lashed under control again. His nails had left imprints in his flesh by the time he uncurled slightly, and Ace gently ran his palm over the marks, trying to erase them.

His necklace swayed into his vision, and Ace blinked at the bright colour before grabbing it in his hand. The beads slipped slowly through his fingers, smooth edges a comfort against his palm like they always were when he remembered who’d given them to him.

Ace pulled them over his head and his holoprojector fizzled, the solid-seeming illusion of his skin fading to what he really looked like - a mess of human body parts and flickering fire-gaps where he’d been forced to use his body.    

 _“You’re not a mess!”_ echoed in his head, long held sense memory, and Ace’s fingertips brushed the largest indent along his forearm. “ _No more than I am, no more than Luffy is! You’re our brother, Ace, and if this hurts you then please- please, stop!_ ”    

How was he ever meant to explain that using his abilities had felt nothing less than absolutely freeing as a child? There’d been no signs of his deterioration until after the fire, after-

After he and Luffy had tried, and failed, to rescue Sabo from his parents.

Gramps had always talked about a catalyst that would start his deterioration, just like it’d started Roger’s, but Ace had never thought that Sabo betraying them could ever be one of them.   

How wrong he’d been.

About his brazen promise to Luffy, that he wouldn’t die from his unstable core, about all vows of brotherhood, about all his bold exclamations that he’d take Whitebeard’s head.

Ace pried his nail into an invisible seam along one of the red beads, lifting part of it away from the rest, and a wavering blue glow filled the tunnel. It flickered ominously, but then stabilised, and Roger grinned at him.

“Hey kiddo!” the hologram greeted, in words that Ace could practically recite by this point, and he grit his teeth. “Now I ain’t got a lot of time, so I’ll make this quick - I probably fucked up a little. Molecular instability and all that stuff is apparently genetic, so you’re gonna end up a little like your old man, even if you don’t want to. Sorry, my little brat. Lucky for us, though, your-”  

Luffy had always asked why Ace would rewatch it, if he knew everything by rote memory, but Ace had never answered. He hadn’t wanted to say that he was searching for something - _anything_ \- that would prove Roger had cared even a _little_ bit about finding a cure for Ace, and had just left it somewhere to find. That he was still searching for that smidgen of a second that would unglitch the nth time he watched it, and reveal just that tiny bit more.

“and you’ll know it. Anyway, even if you don’t ever figure that out, when you go too far and you start destabilising, you’ll be able to feel when they’re-”

Sabo had always quietly mused that Ace was punishing himself, for never figuring out what his father’s cryptic last words had meant.

“-coming. It’ll come, no matter what you do. But it’ll come on faster if you use your powers, and you probably won’t be able to stop yourself from imploding-”

Another glitch, where Roger’s form seemed to flicker just like Ace’s did when he was upset, and Ace grit his teeth.

“-but we don’t know. Just know you can stop it from hurting anyone else. Can’t talk for much longer, but you’ve got to know that I-”

The hologram glitched, smoke and fire flickering across the projection, and Ace mouthed along as Roger’s form went completely soundless. He’d never been able to figure out what Roger had been saying, because the words had been narrowed and rushed and Roger kept moving, eyes darting to the corner of the frame and then back to  the recording device he’d been using. The sound finally flickered back on, in a burst that still always made Ace jump, even though he knew it was coming.

“- _alright_ , Rayleigh. I know the marines are outside! How? Well, the explosions sure ain’t a dead giveaway now, huh?” Roger’s attention turned back to the hologram, and he grinned, eyes softening as though he could look through the years and was staring at Ace’s face. Ace only scowled further. “Be safe, Ace. You’ll be strong enough to figure this out, I know. I mean, you’ve got your mother’s genes in you! And remember - ”  

The hologram finally gave up, collapsing in on itself, and Ace sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. He ran the beads through his fingers, flicking the hidden compartment closed and trying to convince himself that it’d been worth it watching the short video again, and that it hadn’t sent his feelings reeling and turned them into a tangled mess.

His mother...a woman he’d never heard of, never seen, and yet Ace still probably adored her more than he’d ever liked Roger. She’d given up her life to protect him, according to Garp, and had fought to the very end. Roger had handed himself over as soon as he’d heard he was dying because of the stupid mistake he’d made while attacking the marine’s scientific headquarters, trying to investigate rumours of a self-renewing power source.

He slipped the necklace over his head again, and the illusion of normality settled back into place, his skin looking as smooth as it had twelve years ago, before he’d started to fall apart.

 _Now, how to find that large turbine room again…_ He’d spotted more than a few hiding places there, and they were probably going to be heaps safer than sleeping in the dorm Thatch had shown him. Even if Thatch himself was overly friendly, not everyone would be as receptive to someone trying to kill their Captain.

Ace set off along the tunnel, intent on finding a place to hide and form his first attack against the man ‘stronger than the stars’.


	2. flicker of fire

The first time Ace tried to kill Whitebeard, he'd done so with an axe and a determined yell of fury. He hadn't even gotten near Whitebeard’s head when Marco came swooping out of nowhere and had thrown him against the railing. Pissed off, Ace had tried again later that very same day, only to be blocked by Izo languidly flicking him away from Whitebeard with an enlarged set of arms that'd faded back to normal when Ace had staggered to his feet, glared, and promised to be back.

It wasn't running away. It was a tactical retreat for more weaponry, considering that the axe he'd been using had been flung overboard.

By the twenty-third time, he'd heard from Thatch that people had started to place bets on when Ace would attack next. Thatch’d asked him to attack when they passed the next comet, and Ace took it upon himself to pointedly watch the Whitebeards catch a lift on the back of a meteor stream without going near Whitebeard, just to piss Thatch off.

Thatch had only laughed and tried to ruffle his hair, but Ace had hissed at him, and glared until Thatch put his hand down. One of the only people to talk to him frequently, Thatch was so good-natured about _everything_ that it was almost hard to dislike him - but he was a Whitebeard, and Ace’s hatred of them was (by this point, amongst the Whitebeard Pirates,) legendary.

It had been almost two weeks already, and Ace hadn't seen any traces of his own crew, or gotten a single message from them - not that they'd know he was still alive, or even guess where he was. They'd have to backtrack hundreds of hours worth of log to see what'd happened to him, and that was even just provided they could _find_ the log, and that it hadn't been damaged in the blast.

He rubbed at his head, eyes falling closed and head tumbling with useless thoughts. He wanted his _Spade_ back. He wanted his crew back.

He wanted his _freedom_ back.

Claws clicking on wood brought him out of his musings, and Ace turned, eyes narrowed at the sound. The only person who sounded like that was Marco, and Ace was sick and tired of dealing with Marco. Plus, out of all the Whitebeard pirates, Marco was the one near the bottom of the list out of those he'd ever want to see him on the verge of angry tears.

However, the person behind him wasn't even a person at all. Stefan stared at him, looking the picture of puppy-like innocence, and even though he glared, Ace still couldn't help pushing himself against the bannister, in case they'd sent Stefan out to get rid of him and he needed to quite literally jump ship.

“Don't you dare come near me,” Ace hissed, pointing one finger at Stefan, and Stefan drooped much like Thatch did, his whole body falling with the movement into a state that looked near absolute depression. Ace felt his heart pang when Stefan whined and looked up at him from beneath bushing eyebrows.

Was this where the phrase puppy dog eyes came from? Because Ace had no trouble turning down his brother’s mournful eyes, but this thing-

Ace grit his teeth, stretching a hand forwards, and Stefan seemed to perk up, moving his head forwards quickly as well, in a way that made Ace fight the urge to yank his hand back.

He waited for his hand to go intangible, sharp teeth sunken in the skin near his wrist, but nothing happened. Only soft fur met his fingertips, and Stefan began to pant happily.

“What the fuck do they even use you for?” Ace said, hesitantly petting Stefan and then making a noise of disgust in the back of his throat when he peeled his hand away and found fur stuck _everywhere._ Stefan made a tiny, happy yip, his tail wagging, and Ace bit his lip, trying not to smile. “You're awful if you're meant to be guarding them,” he told Stefan, and Stefan dropped to the floor and rolled over, staring at Ace with pleading eyes. He nudged his booted foot into Stefan’s stomach, and there was a loud rhythmic thumping as Stefan’s tail began to beat against the deck. “Weirdo,” he grumbled under his breath, but didn't stop petting Stefan.

By next week, most people had figured out that if you wanted to find Ace, sometimes it was as easy as following the trail Stefan’s fur left.

Other times, maneuvering through the traps he'd left behind on his route - or opposite to his route, to confuse everyone -was more dangerous than trying to find a way through the ship during one of Thatch and Haruta’s pranking wars.

At least _they_ didn't drop heavy objects designed to injure and/or hospitalise.

* * *

When Thatch had tried to find Ace in another effort to convince him to join them for dinner - or even to _eat_ something - he hadn't expected to be witness to Ace’s head bent low to the rails, shoulders slumped and rising unevenly.

Unlike every other time Thatch had caught him, he wasn't staring morosely out at the stars, and Thatch felt his brow knit in concern.

“Ace?” he asked, palm falling gently onto Ace’s shoulder, and then he suddenly found himself grabbed by the wrist and chucked straight through the air and over Ace’s hip. He hit the deck with a pained, surprised _oof!_ He spent a second blinking at the sails in utter confusion and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. Then, his view of the sky was blocked as Ace jolted into Thatch’s sight.

Ace looked rather like Thatch felt, all the breath knocked from him in one solid movement. "I-" he stammered and Thatch could see the worry in his gaze before he buried and locked it away, glaring. "Don't sneak up on me!" he snapped, "Or next time I'll throw you overboard."

Then, with a growl, he stormed away and left Thatch winded on the deck. He heard the click of claws come to his head, and then Marco’s face came into his sight and a hand extended towards him.

"I think he's growing to like us." Thatch wheezed, and Marco stared at him like he was crazy.

"He threatened to throw your ass into the stars, Thatch."

"Well my ass is out of this world,” Thatch said with a grin, and then added, “Besides, he only _threatened_! Just a week ago he actually woulda done it."

"I feel like I need to get you sent in for psych evaluation again, yoi."

"Awww, just 'cause _you’re_ a pessimist doesn't mean I have to be." Thatch heaved himself to his feet with a low groan, rubbing at his back before he patted Marco's cheek. His gaze softened, watching the gentle shift of Marco's colour and Marco's sharp eyes on him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. "Just- try and hang out with him for a bit, Marco. You'll see. Once you get him away from thinking about all of this-" he paused, thinking about the subtle smile that’d grace Ace’s lips when you got him talking about the things he loved, and how stubborn Marco actually was when it came to suggestions, and said, "Nevermind. You probably couldn't do it."

"I know what you're trying to do, Thatch."

"Is it working?" Thatch asked, grinning hopefully, but Marco only met him with a glare. "Ah, it was worth a shot." He flapped his hand in a casual wave, rubbing at his chest and grinning when he turned, knowing that Marco wouldn't be able to quash his curiosity.

Sometimes playing his siblings was so easy. They often forgot that he hadn’t made it to his position in Whitebeard’s crew just by grinning a lot and being good with swords.

* * *

There was no denying that though Thatch acted like an optimistic idiot half the time, he was anything but. And when he said that there was a _something_ about someone, his instincts were usually spot on.

But for all his careful scrutiny, all Marco could see was Ace attempting to kill the one man who'd given him a home. Who hadn't blamed him for the mistakes he'd made while he was getting used to living away from his people and his planet, and trying to adjust to the knowledge that if he let his concentration slip for even a second he'd kill any lifeforms in his near vicinity.

All he saw was Ace trying to kill Whitebeard, or he didn't see Ace at all. It wasn't until Ace had started angrily screaming at Whitebeard for taking him prisoner (though they were planning to drop him off on the nearest inhabited planet,) that he finally figured out where things may have gotten a little bit muddled up.

He'd asked Thatch if anyone had ever bothered to tell Ace that they were planning on dropping him off planetside, and when a panicky expression flashed across Thatch’s face, felt realisation hit him.

Right after that, both he and Thatch had set out in an effort to look for Ace. He'd been heading for the engine room, where Albia and some of the other mechanics had reported seeing Ace frequently when Haruta found him and informed him of a passing solar storm, and Marco’d had to backtrack to the top deck.

It was entirely cleared of the people who couldn't survive the solar winds, which meant that when Marco glanced towards the back of the ship he spotted Ace with ease.

 _Star sparks_ , he cursed, eyes widening at the sight of the golden storm rolling towards them, eating up the miles, but before he could call Ace’s name he realised that Ace was standing there _watching_ the thing.

“ _Portgas_!” he yelled, but Ace didn't turn and then the storm was upon them. Marco had to close his eyes against the stinging grains of space dust. He grabbed the back of his nanotech cloak, pulling the hood over his head, and his sight cleared as the display flickered to life.

 _Charging at 78%, please stand by,_ echoed quietly in his ear, and Marco bit back the nostalgia at hearing the soft clicks of the language from home. He had to find out if Ace was okay-

Pushing his way past Jozu, who'd come to check on him, Marco rushed towards the back of the _Moby_. It only took another moment for him to realise, however, that Ace wasn't in any danger.

He stood surrounded by his own personal storm, staring in wonderment at the stardust that twined around his arms, glittering in the open air.

Delighted laughter sprung from Ace’s lips, stardust curling around his fingertips and fizzling against his skin. His freckles almost seemed to glow, and Marco couldn't help but stare, captivated by the sight. Flickers of red began to float from Ace’s hands, and Marco took another step forwards, watching as what almost looked like fire flittered through the solar storm.

“Commander, what's-?” Jozu asked, stomping up behind him, and Ace jolted, the stardust spiking and then scattering as he whipped around to face them. Jozu stared at Ace, as captivated as Marco had been, and then the storm swirled around them again and visibility dropped.

When it cleared, Ace was nowhere to be found.

Marco’s mind wasn't on Ace’s sudden disappearance, however. He couldn't help but think about what Thatch’d been talking about before.

Maybe…maybe Thatch had been right, about there being more to Ace than met the eye.

* * *

Marco wasn’t leaving him alone.

Ever since that incident with the solar storm, when Jozu and Marco had caught him playing with the space dust, Marco had been almost as persistent as Thatch, hunting Ace down and bearing food. It killed Ace to turn it away, but he wasn’t going to take anything from them, no matter what they said - it was just too dangerous.  

But then again, so was letting Marco catch a glimpse of him during that storm.

Ace had realised a few years ago - when he’d gotten caught in a storm by accident - that he could halt his destabilisation and get a quick recharge on his abilities when he was in the middle of a solar storm. Something in the restlessness of the storm settled the restlessness in him, and the marks of his destabilisation would fade for a while, with only a few returning to their full size when the storm left.

Even if solar storms were dangerous to most of the others on his crew, Ace could survive them, but he’d never met anyone else who could. He’d figured it would’ve been safe to sneak around the deck, but then both Marco and Jozu had gotten the drop on him. He was just lucky he’d heard them at the last minute, because he didn’t want to think about what they would’ve done to him if he hadn’t escaped.

Only now, Marco seemed to think that Ace was fair game to talk to. As if seeing Ace in the middle of the storm, actually _happy_ for once, gave him grounds to try and hold a conversation. Hell, it was partially Marco’s fault that Ace was always so miserable, nowadays - Marco was the one who’d dumped him on the Whitebeard’s ship!

At least Ace could quite victoriously say that it was sometimes easier to get under Marco’s skin than it was Thatch’s. He could drive Marco away with a few cutting remarks designed to get his temper flaring, whereas all the insults he threw at Thatch just seemed to roll off his back.

Take now, for instance. Marco had sought him out for some reason, and though Ace had tried to avoid him, Marco had cornered him near the engines. Ace didn’t want Marco to realise that he often disappeared in the direction of the engine rooms, and so he’d been forced to hang around, throwing out sharp remarks.           

He could already see Marco’s skin flicker red underneath his cloak, but then Marco had pulled the fabric around him and the colour was gone from his view. “Why do you do that?” he asked, interrupting Marco’s next words.

“Do what?” Marco said, blinking at him in obvious confusion.

“You know- with your nanotech, or your cloak. You always cover up whatever colours you have. Why?”

“Why do you care?” Marco asked, looking almost bemused. “I thought you weren't interested in what your ‘enemies’ had to say. Or think about. Or feel.”

Ace felt his freckles heat, and grit his teeth. “I don't.”

“Then why ask?”

He stayed silent, refusing to admit that it'd only been stupid curiosity and hating the fact his tongue had gotten him caught again. Marco regarded him silently, obviously waiting for an answer, and Ace finally relented and blurted, “I was curious, okay! Fuck off. It's not every day you come across some weirdo who changes colour like a fucking mood ring.”

“Does your language always get this foul when you get pissed off, or is it only because we're here?” Marco inquired, and Ace glared, unamused. Marco sighed, then shifted back on his heels. “How's this, then.” he said. “You start eating proper, and I'll stop covering up around you. Then you'll know if I'm ever lying about something, and if your worry is that we'll poison you, then my skin will tell you.”

“How do I know you're even telling the truth?”

“You'll have to trust me, yoi.”

 _Trust._ In a Whitebeard pirate? He didn't think so - he may not have been frighteningly clever, but he wasn't stupid either.

“I don't trust you, and I doubt I ever will.”

“You trusted me before, Ace. When I asked you too, when you were about to die.”

“That was different,” he spat. “That was before I knew you were one of Whitebeard’s sons!”

“And why does that make it so different?” Marco asked. “You believed me- well, you believed my skin, anyhow. Why won't you believe it now?”

Ace found himself stuck for an answer, unable to find a way to respond, and only settled for silently glaring, jaw clenched. He didn't like this feeling of being caught off guard, and with Marco it seemed that all conversations felt that way. At least with Thatch he just had to nod along at the right intervals and then Thatch’d talk himself to death - with Marco, Ace often found himself tongue-tied and hard pressed for an answer.

“Fuck off,” he growled, about to storm away, but then Marco’s hands had found his arm again and Ace found himself jolted to a stop. With a growl he ripped his arm out of Marco’s grip, hands curled into fists. “ _Don't touch me._ ”

Marco was _watching_ him curiously, refusing to be cowed by Ace’s glare. His brows were drawn together just slightly, golden eyes trying to figure something out, and Ace had to fight the urge to step back and cover his arms. Most normal lifeforms couldn't properly feel the gaps in his skin, thanks to his specifically designed holoprojector, but then again it wasn't like Marco was _normal._

“If you want to steal dinner from me, fine. Just eat something, Ace. Because you already look sick from your injuries - what're you going to do if you get sick from malnutrition or dehydration? How's your plan going to work out then?”

Ace growled, gritting his teeth. “I don’t need someone like you trying to _look out_ for me. I’m not going to owe you anything, least of all food!”

Marco’s expression grew pinched, and Ace could see him flicker between shades of red and orange. He was almost waiting for Marco to start rubbing his temples, and would’ve congratulated himself for it too, glad he’d given Marco a headache.

“If it makes you feel better, than think of it as my selfish request, yoi. Then I'll owe you a favour. Would you eat then?”

“I’ll eat when I know it’s safe.”

“And you won’t believe the being that can’t lie?” Marco asked, something almost like amusement on his lips.

Ace’s own expression was twisted in confusion, and he couldn’t help but stare. “You can lie. It’s not impossible-”

“It is when your lies get immediately found out. Watch.” Marco grinned, and then cleared his throat, sweeping his cloak away from his arms and showing Ace the light orange and blue of his skin. “My name is Alexander and I work for the League of Allied Planets.”

Marco’s skin immediately turned black, and Ace startled backwards at the sudden lack of colour. Almost all of Marco’s skin had turned a single shade, none of the usual jewel-like colours decorating either his feathers or skin. “Wha-?” he asked questioningly, moving forwards hesitantly and letting his hand hover between them as Marco waited patiently, arms outstretched so that Ace could see.

“It’s meant to be for defence,” Marco said laughingly. “If you have to lie, then you’re in danger, apparently. The Phoenix suit and my nanotech kind of- had a weird side effect, and it’s not like I can take either of them off.”

 _The Phoenix suit,_ Ace thought, the memory of Thatch’s excited tour floating to the front of his head. Thatch had called it that too, but Ace had never seen any sort of suit - unless you counted the cloak that Marco almost constantly wore. Curiosity bubbled in his chest, and he paused, watching Marco with careful grey eyes.

“Why not?” he asked finally, as Marco rearranged his cloak.

Marco studied him for a moment, and then suddenly his face burst into a grin. “Eat something, yoi. And I’ll answer your questions - you know I won’t be able to lie.”

Ace clenched his jaw, staring at Marco’s grin and the glimmers of colour that had started to seep through the darkness of Marco’s skin. His teeth sunk into the flesh of his bottom lip, the pain forcing him to think, and he finally nodded.

As Marco waved and walked away, Ace caught the faint hint of relieved blue and yellow on Marco’s neck.  

* * *

Since that point, Thatch and Marco had been his almost constant companions. Marco, because - though hesitantly - Ace could still trust him, even if only a little. Thatch, because he just wouldn’t go _away._

If it weren’t for the fact that Ace was still trying to kill Whitebeard, he’d almost say they were as close to ‘friends’ as he’d ever been with anyone else. Granted, every time he took another stab at Whitebeard (usually quite literally) Marco would eye him off grumpily for a few hours, but Thatch could usually make him smile again, and get Marco’s skin back to its normal shade.

Ace- wasn’t sure why he was jealous of Thatch’s ability to make Marco - well, not just Marco, obviously, - smile. He figured it was probably because no matter how hard he tried, he’d never been able to make anyone laugh. Sabo had grinned at him teasingly a few times, and Luffy would sometimes laugh _at_ him, or at a comment he’d shot at Sabo, but he’d never-

He’d never been able to make anyone laugh like Thatch; the open, honest sound of pure, amused laughter. Ace had heard Thatch make Jozu laugh, deep and loud, Izo, bubbling and short, like he was always surprised to be caught amused and-

Marco.

Marco’s laughter was stupidly nice to listen to, and always made Ace grin at the sound, before he would always off-handedly wish he could make Marco let loose that same sound. Then, he’d curse himself for the thought, because his entire plan was to drive away these stupid, stubbornly persistent Whitebeard Pirates, not make them _laugh._

He’d almost had his chance one day, and he’d thrown it away.

He’d been waiting for Marco to bring him lunch again, still refusing to eat with the rest of the Whitebeard pirates, when he’d felt the _Moby Dick_ shudder under his feet. He’d frowned, shifting from his languid lean against the mast to survey the deck, but he couldn’t see anything-

The whole ship jolted, and then suddenly Ace felt his feet leave the floor. It was only pure luck that he managed to grab a hold of one of the rails sticking from the mast.

Purple bits of goop and what looked like makeup floated past him, and Ace’s eyes widened in surprise as Izo - or rather, a less solid, floating version of Izo - materialized out of thin air and began to direct people around. He heard something being shouted about their gravity rigs malfunctioning, but that much was pretty damn obvious considering everyone in the nearby vicinity was _floating._

Except that guy.

Ace squinted, eyes caught on the figure that'd just slipped over the edge and was now steadily creeping forwards, attempting to blend in around the Whitebeard crew. It would've been a valiant effort if Ace hadn't seen him climb the balcony.

But it wasn't like Ace could do anything about it. He had to grit his teeth to bite back the frustration at currently being so useless. If he had his fire he could've helped out-

His thoughts jolted to a stop, and he shook his head viciously to clear them. There was no way in hell he'd ever try and help the Whitebeard pirates, or waste his fire trying to protect them! They were his enemies, had kept him from contacting his crew, and now kept trying to justify _why_ -

Maybe if Ace was lucky this figure would take out the crew, and Ace would be free to leave and start over, or even just figure out what happened to his crew - Jack and King and Ochre and Hearts and Dea - he missed them as much as he missed his ship, even if he'd had _Spade_ for longer.

The figure turned towards him, and Ace almost choked on his spit in surprise. _That's- that's one question answered_ , he thought grin spreading across his face as Hearts began to subtly wave at him, changing direction and heading to where Ace was hanging from the mast.

“Captain!” he hissed quietly, concern evident on his face, “You alright? Did they hurts yah?”

“Better now that you're here,” he said, giving his head a quick shake. “Where's everyone else? Are you lot alright?”

“Fit as’a set of fiddles, cap.” Hearts grinned brightly, and then let his attention be caught up in trying to untangle his belt - which Ace could now see was a mess of what appeared to be an improvised gravity rig. “Ochre’s voice box went frittzing, so everyone's having a fun as fuck time trying to understand ‘im, but I _told_ ‘em they'd regret not learning sign when I offered it ‘cause Ochre uses it half the time anyway! I mean, I know it gets translated, but it ain't like that little shit of a translator’s right most the time. _I'd_ do a better job, and I ain't even one of those fancy ma-bobbin’ machines!”

Ace’s chest ached as Hearts continued to blather, his fingers moving deftly as he grabbed Ace’s belt loops and pulled him down until gravity affected them both. Hearts was so _careful_ not to touch him, knowing just how much Ace hated it when he didn't initiate the touch himself, and pangs of longing curled painfully in his chest.

But he was almost home. They'd come to save him, even though Ace hadn't held hopes for it. The Spades had come to _find_ him, instead of just letting themselves believe that he’d been killed in the Komadi ship’s explosion.

They were already half way across the deck, and no-one had spotted them, rushing around and trying to fix the gravity rigs, or prevent themselves from floating away.

“Get away from him!” he suddenly heard Marco screech, and in a blur of bright blue fire, Hearts was ripped away from him. Ace went skidding behind their wake, still attached to Hearts’ belt, and with wide eyes noted that Marco - for the first time since Ace had been onboard - had finally ignited his hypnotic, fascinating wings again.

Hearts gave a loud cry, rolling over and sending several Whitebeard pirates spiralling away, and Marco paused, indecision on his face before he darted after his crewmates.

“Come on!” Ace ordered, grabbing Hearts’ wrist and dragging him to his feet. He sprinted for the rails, darting around the grasping hands of the people he’d gotten to know on Whitebeard’s ship. Hearts switched the grip Ace had, pulling them towards the stern, and Ace caught the tell-tale roar of silenced engines.

The escape pod he'd sent his crew away in roared next to the Whitebeard’s ship, hovering as close to the balcony as they dared, and Ace caught sight of a row of familiar faces peering from the porthole.

Hearts leapt forwards, hands outstretched, and Ace’s crew grabbed him in a tangle of limbs and pulled him inside. Jack’s attention turned to him as soon as Hearts was safe, his features twisted with worry.

“Captain, let's go!” Jack called, hand outstretched and beckoning, and Ace had almost reached his first mate when Marco came out of nowhere and jolted to a stop between Ace and his crew’s ship.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Marco said, alighting on the balcony, and Ace darted backwards, trying to figure out someway to get around Marco’s outstretched wings.

“I’m _leaving!_ ” he shouted back, as Marco maneuvered around his crewmates, pushing them down so they could grab the ground and stop floating. Ace merely pushed them out of the way, hating himself for being unable to push them towards the rails or upwards to the stars, and get Marco’s attention off him for good.

Or at least, long enough for Ace to escape.

The loud scream of metal filled the air, and Ace caught the Spades’ ship scrape against the _Moby Dick_ just as he was sent to the ground, unbalanced _._ He winced at the sound, eyes squeezed shut, but refused to still and rolled to the side. Marco’s talons thudded into the deck where he’d been only seconds before, and Ace sent a quick, heart-thumping thanks to the stars, staggering to his feet.

Marco was trying to get airborne again, but Ace had been maneuvering them around the mast since they’d started this chase and in the time it took Marco to get wind beneath his wings Ace was sprinting for the balcony.

He was so _close-_

“ _Thatch!_ ” he heard Izo scream, and his skin prickled under the shot of adrenaline that raced through him. Unbidden, his head snapped to the side and though his headlong pace didn’t stop, he was still able to see Thatch hurtling towards the air bubble, the lack of gravity having unbalanced him and sending him flying.

It was barely a debate, but one he had to have; Ace’s head tried to force him to believe that Thatch would be okay, but memory of Thatch’s kindness surged past his hesitation.

 _Shit,_ he swore, cursing Thatch to heaven and the stars, but grit his teeth and switched his strides, jumping to the balcony and just barely managing to grab Thatch’s wrist before Thatch left the air pocket. He may’ve been a hybrid, but even they couldn’t survive in space for very long.

Twisting his body, Ace managed to fling Thatch back down to the ship, sending himself spiralling closer to the edge of the oxygen bubble. For a second hesitation froze his limbs; he could easily be free of them, and his crew’s ship would probably be fast enough to grab him before he flickered out.

He wouldn’t have to waste his fire-

“ _Ace!_ ” called a weird tangle of voices ( _Jack? Marco? King? Izo?_ ), and he bit his tongue, letting his feet flare to life and propel him back to the ship.

He landed with a painful thump, staggering as he readjusted, and realised with a sinking feeling that they’d managed to turn the gravity back on. His fire had eaten away at his palm; he could feel the hollow spot like he could feel the sick twist in his stomach.

The Whitebeard pirates were circled loosely around him, not even attempting to hide their open looks of shock, and he bared his teeth in a growl.

“My son,” he heard Whitebeard’s voice mumble quietly, and took a step back as Whitebeard moved through the crowd to Thatch, his large palm pressed against Thatch’s body as though he had to assure himself that Thatch was alright.

Whitebeard’s laser focus turned to him, and Ace clenched his hands, refusing to be cowed by the giant in front of him.

“I helped him,” he spat in his defence, waiting for Whitebeard to backhand him into space and ignoring the bitter distaste that came to his mouth. He’d helped his enemy, used his own fire – his life – to do so, and had thrown away his best chance at escape.

How stupid could one person get?

“I know,” Whitebeard said, voice coloured with contemplation, and Ace couldn’t figure out what emotion was written on Whitebeard’s face. Curiosity? Indulgence? Happiness? Whitebeard took another step forwards, the crowd parting around him, and Ace had to tilt his head up to look Whitebeard in the eye, refusing to stop glaring. Whitebeard’s palm extended towards him, the large creases mapping out a fate Ace couldn’t read, and Whitebeard grinned, “Ace, will you become my son?”

Ace’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Whitebeard, speechless. Then, recovering his wits, he spat, “I’m no man’s son!”

“All the more reason to become mine,” Whitebeard said, his lips twitching into an even wider grin, and Ace growled, slapping what he could reach of Whitebeard’s hand away from him.

“Never,” he said, teeth bared in a snarl. “I will not serve someone like _you._ ”

_You’d kill me, without a second thought. If you found out what was wrong with me-_

Anything _of what is wrong with me. Whichever secret you find out…_

Ace’s heart twisted, but he refused to let his anguish show on his face, instead spitting at Whitebeard’s feet, expression twisted in disgust. The action didn’t raise any murmurs like he expected, however, and again the crowd parted. Thatch hobbled forwards, and Ace had to stop himself from flinching when Thatch grinned at him thankfully.

“So,” Thatch said, nudging Ace teasingly, “fire feet, huh?”

* * *

It had been- _difficult_ at first to adjust to life on Whitebeard’s ship. Everyone treated him with relative respect or ignored him, occasionally staying to watch his attempts on Whitebeard’s life. He’d heard from Thatch that there were even several betting pools going on for when his next plan would occur, and how he’d try and kill Whitebeard.

He’d been bandaged up, even when he hadn’t asked for it, and the few times they’d drawn him into conversation no-one had pressed him for information.

But now that he’d saved Thatch’s life, everything had been turned upside down.

Everyone greeted him as he went past. Whitebeard smiled at him indulgently whenever Ace took another axe to his head, and Thatch had started preparing food for him, instead of just leaving the pantry open.

They'd even treated his crew cordially, though Jack and the rest of them had disabled the Whitebeard’s gravity rig and their communications system, and sent the whole ship careening off course.

Ace had no idea what to do about it.

The only one who’d been acting even semi-normally was Marco, and even then Marco’s general actions _before_ hadn’t exactly been overly hostile. Or overly friendly, to be honest.

At the same time, though, before Marco had been simply cordial, and had traded information with Ace in return for Ace eating. Now, he took great pains in trying to cajole Ace into sitting with the Whitebeards, and eating with them, and _talking_ to them, and all of it was set to drive Ace off the portside bow. If this was their way of trying to get him to leave them alone, it was working much better than their previous attempts.

Wary of their plans, Ace stopped sneaking into the pantry, knowing that Thatch would’ve left food out and hesitant to eat it, in case (for all their words) they still wanted to dump him somewhere.

The only thing that hadn't changed was his determination to kill Whitebeard. He tried almost every single day, and every single day Ace was met with failure. His bruises had bruises, and along the line he was pretty sure Whitebeard had dislocated or almost broken more bones than Ace thought was recommended by most doctors - pirate ones or no.

Like now, for instance - though he knew he was probably about to get punched through a wall again, Ace still tried to sneak up on Whitebeard.

His feet were soundless as he crept forwards, knife held in one hand carefully as he eyed up the back of Whitebeard’s head, but before he could get any close Whitebeard turned around and spotted him.

“Hello, son!” Whitebeard greeted, _smiling_ at him, and Ace howled out his battle cry, feeling it hurt more than it ought. _I am not your son!_ he thought viciously, swiping out with the knife in the hopes he'd be able to hit _anything_ vital.

But before he knew it, Whitebeard had picked him up gently and had thrown him away again, Ace’s determination no much for his monster size.

Ace found himself sailing over the balcony, hands scrabbling against the wood as he tumbled over the edge-

And then long fingers grabbed his wrist and hauled him aboard the ship again. With a heave, Marco had him over the rails and standing again, and then he brushed off his blue cloak, smoothing it down like he was calming ruffled feathers.

“You alright?” Marco asked, and Ace glared.

“I don't need rescuing from the son of the man who threw me overboard.”

“Rescuing yourself would’ve given the exact same sentence, you know,” Marco said, and Ace bared his teeth.

“I am not his son!” he said, the words torn from him in a brutal, gruttal sound, but Marco looked unperturbed.

Turning on his heel, Ace stomped away. He didn't want to have another conversation about how much easier it would be if he stopped trying to kill Whitebeard and became his son instead.

But Marco’s footsteps followed him, and Ace could feel his shoulders begin to bunch up, tense and angry.

“You could easily become his son,” Marco said, “as one of our allies, or, if you wanted-”

“Shut up!” he spat, whirling on Marco and -for the first time in years - feeling fire lick along his shoulders before he could tamp it down, stomach twisting sickeningly. “I don't want to be your ally,” he growled, the heavy weight of guilt in his chest. “I don't want to be part of your crew. I just want _my_ crew back so I can _leave!_ And if you lot have hurt them, if you're lying to me, Marco, I swear that I'll rip into your insides and make them your _outsides.”_

Marco blinked at him rapidly and then finally seemed to realise what Ace was talking about, a grin spreading across his cheek before he started to laugh, skin flickering yellow. “Ace, I promise you we haven't touched them. There's no need to get so worked up,  yoi.”

“Then where are they? Why can't I see them?” he demanded, bristling at Marco’s indulging smile.

“Well considering last time you were in contact our ship almost collapsed in on itself-” Marco pointed out, smile souring slightly, and Ace snorted.

“Which it wouldn't have done if you guys weren't keeping me _captive-”_

Marco sighed, the yellow on his chest flickering briefly red. _“_ We've said you can leave at any time you want, yoi. You’re _not_ our captive.”

“Oh yeah, like I could leave now that you’re holding my crew and won’t tell me where they are. You say that and yet when I tried to escape you almost tore me up with your talons! What do you even _want_ from me?”

He knew he sounded desperate when he spat out the question, but he was _sick_ of this. Of being kept on the edge, never knowing what their intentions were-

“Ace, we just want you to join us-”

Ace laughed, the sound hollow, and threw his hands into the air. He could feel sparks flutter from his hands, but at the moment he just couldn’t _care._ “Fine! I'll join your stupid crew, just let _my_ crew go! Is that what you want? For me to join your fucking _family?_ ”

“Yes, but not like this! We want you to accept us, Ace, not just join because you think you have to-”

“Then let my crew go! Because you having a bargaining chip over me sure as hell ain’t helping convince me that shacking up with _you_ is a good idea. So far you lot all seem like a bunch of weird fucking _idiots._ Take a look at Thatch, if you want a prime example of what I mean. Or perhaps if you’d like an example of the _weird_ side of things, we’ll get Izo in to demonstrate!”

Marco flinched back, expression set harshly, and Ace caught the brief flicker of Marco’s tattoos, roiling restless across his skin. “Don’t bring petty arguments into this,” he growled quietly. “Just because you may not like us, or the concept of joining our crew, doesn’t give you an excuse to attack any of my siblings personally. And the next time you do it, I won’t be offering you a chance to join us. I’ll be offering you a three minute head start before I chase you down and rip you to pieces.”

Ace’s fingers twitched like spiders, jolting and curling in and out of his palm, and Ace almost bit his tongue at Marco’s tone. He’d gone too far then, and he _knew_ it, he regretted the words as soon as they’d escaped his mouth, but there was something-

_Protectiveness. Defensive fury._

_I will fight for them. Just you watch me, Ace. I will fight for them, no matter what anyone else wants._

Would Marco ever do that for him?

He almost screamed at the thought that invaded his head, wishing he could tear about the traitorous, hopeful longing. It wasn't fair that he felt this way, pulled in a million different directions by a million different loyalties, and he _hated it._

 _“_ That favour you owe me,” he said, instead of voicing his treacherous feelings, trying to convince himself that the favour Marco had given him all those months really had been for Marco’s benefit rather than his own. “I want you to let go of my crew. Then we're even.”

“Promise me that they won't attack us again, even to ‘rescue’ you. I'm not getting them released just for them to try and kill my siblings and I again.”

Ace ground his teeth, but had to admit that he saw the reason behind Marco’s request. He was trying to protect his crew, just like Ace was doing.

_He'd do it for you, too. If you joined them._

_Shut up!_ he screamed at himself, giving Marco a curt nod and stalking off, resisting the urge to clutch his head. _You really think he'd care - they'd care - about you when they find out you're a liar and a threat and-_

_You can't trust them. You can't trust anyone._

* * *

The Spades had protested when he told them what he’d done, but captain’s orders were still captain’s orders, even if Ace had failed them, and when he told them to leave, they did. They didn’t, however, go very far - Ace could still see them doggedly tagging along in the _Moby Dick_ ’s wake, refusing to let the ship out of their sight.

He wanted to call their tenacity foolhardy, but he couldn’t deny the ache in his chest every time he saw the escape pod from the corner of his eye.

Marco’s skin had very, very briefly flickered orange the first time he’d caught sight of the Spades still following them, and his hand twitched towards his cape - but then he’d caught sight of Ace, and his hand dropped.

The colour faded sooner after, and Ace half-wanted to know what Marco had been thinking about when the colour vanished; then, he’d banished the thought from his head with an angry shake.

“They won’t attack,” he said, and Marco looked at him, golden eyes still holding that look of lazy boredom.

“I know,” Marco said, and then his lips spread into a vicious grin, “and I know what’ll happen if they try. Pops isn’t called the Strongest Man for nothing.”

Ace gave a barking scoff, feeling the sound echo around his teeth, sharp and angry. “He won’t be called that for long.”

Marco didn’t deign that comment with an answer; only smiled superiorly, hiding a secret behind the stretch of his lips.

“Are you coming to dinner today, yoi?” Marco asked, regarding him carefully, and Ace bared his teeth.

“I don’t see the point in forcing myself to keep company with my enemies.”

Marco’s expression flickered for a moment, jaw tightening as red coloured his skin, and Ace felt the barest flicker of a smile across his face at having inspired such an emotion.

“We’re _not_ your enemies,” Marco said, but Ace only snorted.

“Then do explain why you won’t let me _leave,_ ” Ace shot back, and Marco kneaded his forehead, nanotech shifting across his form in an almost hypnotic way.

“We want you to join us,” Marco said again, the same as he had every other time, and Ace fastened his gaze on the ship trailing them, wishing that he was inside it, with his crew around him.

Wishing he was inside the _Spade_ ’s familiar hull instead of standing on the deck of a ship filled with beings that’d rest at nothing if they found out the secrets he carried.

“If your usual method of convincing people to join you is to hold them hostage,” Ace shot, could feel the wood of the rail bite into his palms, “then I’m rather surprised you have anyone joining you at all!”

“If you truly hate us that much,” Marco said back, tone glacial, “then why don’t you just leave? Your ship dogs us close enough for you to easily slip away if you wanted.”

Ace paused, refusing to admit that he’d entertained the idea so many times already, thought about how fucking _easy_ it would be. “I don’t break my promises,” he said, and the words sounded gruff but he didn’t _care,_ he didn’t, he wasn’t going to think about-

(“ _I promise, Luffy! I won’t ever die! Not until my name surpasses my father’s. Besides, who else would take care of your stupid ass if I left you all alone?_ ”)

“Besides,” Ace added, forcing his hands to loosen from where he’d been gripping the balcony rails, “how the hell would I be able to get to my ship? Even with it at our- _your_ heels, I can’t jump for it and expect an _escape pod_ to have the maneuverability to pick me up before you blow us out of the sky and kidnap me again.”

Marco made a quiet grumble under his breath, but the only words Ace could pick out were ‘didn’t kidnap you,’, which only made him hold back a snort.

“How many times are we going to have to apologise for that, yoi? It was a mistake.”

“Until you go stick yourself on one of your ships and get someone taking pot luck shots in _your_ direction. Until you see how much fun it is to be picked up by some random-ass group of fucking pirates and expected to stay docile while they try and pick apart your life story!”

Marco scoffed, and Ace, for the first time since they’d started their argument, felt the intense urge to set Marco on fire. “ _What?_ ” he snapped out, and Marco folded his hands over his chest.

“There’s no way that’s ‘your’ ship,” he said haughtily, eyes narrowed into slits. “That ship was an Imperial Starcruiser, and you sure as hell aren’t part of the Starfleet.”

Ace grit his teeth, lips bared into a snarl.

“I stole the _plans_ for that ship. And then I fixed the mistakes those idiots always leave in the Cruisers, and then I built that ship from the ground up. She was _mine,_ in every sense of the word, and you _destroyed her_ .” Ace had to stop, breath dangerously short in anger and anguish, and didn’t notice that Marco, when he’d mentioned stealing the ship’s plans, had let his skin flicker briefly with surprise. His chest felt tight, mind overrun with a plague of memories of the _Spade_ , and he could barely muster the strength to let his voice be heard when he next spoke. “You blew her into pieces. Pieces I will never get back, because they are floating in space, somewhere. And _you_ lot took me so far away from where I could find them, or where my crew could ever find me, and you expect me to-”

“We took pieces with us, yoi.”

Ace froze, feeling his face drain of colour. “What?” he breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from Marco’s and searching for any hint of a lie, but Marco’s skin was still sky-blue.

“We took pieces with us,” Marco repeated, “one of the shipwrights has been trying to fix them for the past month.”

“You- you tried to fix my ship?” Ace asked, mind tumbling and turning with possibilities. “Where is she!”

“Ace-” Marco said carefully, but then decided the better of it. “The pieces were too small to make a proper ship again. But-” he grinned a tiny bit, and then headed across the deck. “C’mon.”

Ace frowned, staring after Marco’s back. Then, with a quiet grumble, he followed Marco. “Where are we going?” he asked, and Marco cast him a small smile over his shoulder before disappearing downstairs.

“You’ll see.”

They walked in silence, Ace buzzing with the prospect of being able to see _Spade_ again, even if only in pieces, because pieces meant that he could fix her. It meant that the marks he’d burnt into her hull would still be there, a testament to how he’d lived. The _Spade_ was going to be his grave, he’d long since decided that, and he wanted her to have a story – _his_ story – written on every piece of metal.

Coming to a nondescript door, Marco rapped on it with his knuckles, and then – with the expression of someone who knew what was coming – stepped to the side. The door banged open, and Ace barely managed to dive out of the way as a giant of a woman barrelled through the door and tried to tackle him.

“What the hell!” Ace yelled angrily, forcing his flames to calm but knowing he’d lost something for the second of shock when they’d flared out of his control.

At the sound of his voice, the giant turned on him, grinning ridiculously wide. She looked almost as though she were about to pick him up, and Ace quickly took a step back, refusing to let her close. He wasn’t some cuddling toy, no matter what Thatch seemed to have relegated him to.

“Ace, this is Albia.” Marco said, a faint smile twitching on his lips, and Ace glared at him, suspecting that Marco had known this would happen.

“Hi,” he said as he gazed around warily, unsure of what to do in this new territory. He could recognise some gears, a few tools scattered here and there, but the rest remained a mystery.

“Ace!” Albia said, as though they were dear friends, and Ace couldn’t help but stare in confusion. “Your ship is _amazing._ ”

“Thanks…?” Ace said cautiously, a tiny flicker of pride in his chest, “I know.”

“What did you make the frame out of?” Albia asked, bending over so she could talk to him face-to-face, and Ace could see the excitement in her eyes. “Tungsten? Meteroin carbonate? We’ve been looking in all the planets we pass but we can’t find anything like it. Well, nothing malleable.”

Ace shrugged. “You just need something hot enough.”

“And you’re hot enough?” Albia asked curiously, a spark in her eyes, and Ace immediately folded his arms, not liking the look on her face.

“I can get pretty hot, yeah…”

Marco coughed behind them, and Albia seemed to regain her senses, straightening with a laugh. “Right, sorry Marco,” she said as she walked back through the door, beckoning Marco and Ace to follow. “It really is an impressive ship though! The Starcruisers are already top-of-line, but adding a rotorscope? You’d never be able to get away with that in government sanctioned space just ‘cause of the legalities behind gravity defirment of species, but when you balance it out with-”

“ _Albia,_ ” Marco said, and this time Albia shifted in embarrassment, mouth snapping shut.

“Sorry, _taichōu_ ,” she said again, but this time managed to keep herself under control, and made her steady way through a mess of bolts and tools.

“Well, we couldn’t repair your ship completely, Ace. There was a lot of rupture damage, and the glass that I’m presuming you had…that didn’t help when your ship had to adjust to the rupturing. There was- well, there were a lot of parts, and not a lot of ship.” Albia stopped by a large tented sheet, hands gathering the dark material, and then she turned to offer Ace a grin. “But this is _Spade_ two point oh, or as we’ve been calling her, the Striker!”

She whipped off the sheet, fabric fluttering behind her, but Ace didn’t pay attention to it. All his focus was caught on the slight ship in front of him. “Woah,” he breathed, feeling the word resonate in his chest.

His eyes raked every inch of the ship, trying to figure out how they’d made her. Though only a basic frame, he could see where different parts would go, and she’d already began to grow under talented hands.

“She’s powered by your flames,” Albia said, stepping beside him and grinning in delight at his astonishment. “So she’ll go anywhere you want, you just gotta steer her. You know star surfers? She’s fashioned after one a’ those, only, you’know, you won’t need fuel, so she’s ten times lighter and ten times faster. You’ll tear past anything.”

“You-,” Ace started, the words stuck in his throat, “you built me a ship?”

He could feel his eyes sting. The last person who’d ever built him a ship – the person who’d helped him build the very first _Spade_ – had been Sabo.

Albia took his stunned silence as gratefulness, instead continuing to blab on about the features the Striker apparently had, but Ace could barely hear the list. It wasn’t until Marco laid his hand on Ace’s shoulder that Ace snapped out of his daze, shrugging off Marco’s hand.

“You- built me a ship. Even though you want me to stay here?” Ace asked, interrupting Albia and mentally apologising until he realised she’d barely been paying attention to them.

“We don’t want you to stay here out of anything but your own free will,” Marco said, leaning back against one of the desks in the room. “Now you can leave, whenever you want. If you want to leave us.”

(For some weird reason, Ace couldn’t help but think it seemed like he was saying _if you want to leave me,_ but he pushed the thought from his head.)

He took a hesitant step closer to what had previously been his _Spade,_ unable to deny the elegance of Striker.

Ace didn’t know what to do. Half his head practically screamed at him to jump on the ship and ride it away as fast as he could, but paranoia whispered that they’d have some sort of failsafe. They wouldn’t just let him escape-

Would they?

Because, according to them – Striker was now _his._ Built from the remains of _his_ ship, salvaged scraps they would’ve had to fight tooth and nail for, had to figure out what belonged to the Komadi and what belonged to him-

Why would they do that?

That’d been at a point when they’d been _enemies._ When Ace had tried to kill Whitebeard more than once a day, when he’d refused to talk to them, when he’d tried to leave them stranded in the stars when they’d saved him from such a fate.

His chest, for some stupid reason, seemed to ache as Ace took another step closer to the Striker. Ace couldn’t help but wonder if his fire had started to eat away at his heart. Fingers grazing the ship’s ragged side, Ace tried to let himself think, but his thoughts tumbled like he had been blown from the wreckage of the _Spade_ and the Komadi ship again.

Every step could lead to something dangerous. Every spin lead him further out of control, and he had no orbit; no anchor.

Gravity had abandoned him, just like everything else in his life had managed to abandon him.

And yet, with a stubborn certainty, his head seemed determined to assure him that the Whitebeards wouldn’t. That no matter what he did they would protect him.

 _What a stupid thought!_ he snapped at himself, angrily pulling his hand from the Striker and wiping it on his pants as though it were what had infected his thoughts, but it echoed quietly in his hollow chest with a certainty that made him doubt his conviction.

Turning on his heel, he stormed away and left Albia and Marco standing by what had been his _Spade_ and what now – maybe, just maybe – marked the start of something new.


	3. glimmer on the galleon

Marco hadn’t expected any drastic changes in Ace after Ace’d been shown the Striker. He’d known that Ace’s mistrust of them stretched much deeper than one repaired ship would ever be able to fix, but-

Ace full on _vanishing_?

Well, Marco hadn’t expected that at all. The only reason anyone even knew Ace was still onboard was because the meals that Thatch sneakily left out, (pretending they were for some of the people in his division) were still being devoured.

(That conversation had been an adventure, when Thatch actually _had_ left them out for his division - Ace had claimed finder’s keepers, which had made Thatch rant for a good half hour on simply _asking_ for food that Ace had promptly ignored. It did mean, however, that Marco wasn’t constantly chasing Ace with food, and Ace’d started looking a hell of a lot healthier than when he was simply relying on Marco.)

The _point,_ though, was that Marco expected Ace to start slowly opening up to them, picking down the mile-high walls he’d built, not - Marco’d repeat it again, just because it seemed so _ridiculous_ a reaction - fucking _vanish._

He’d been on his seventh ‘find Ace in case he’s planning another attempt at blowing up _Moby’_ mission when the _Moby_ rocked uncontrollably to the side and Marco found himself off balance, almost falling over the balcony before he could catch himself.

His first thought was that Ace’d done something to their engines again, but then he caught sight of a familiar bright orange hat tumbling out of a tiny corner ( _how was that even comfortable?_ he mused in the back of his head,) and figured out that it wasn’t Ace.

Sprinting along the walkway, Marco urged his nanotech into holding a firmer grasp across his body, forming a double layer of armour that’d prevent any of his energy from escaping to the outside air, even if he did get injured. He ran into Ace as they both hit the stairs leading to the deck, and pulled Ace back from the door when he spotted the familiar blue, black and white of the marines, preventing Ace from bolting forwards.

Ace glared at Marco for touching him, and Marco heaved an internal sigh, but cast it from his thoughts. One day Ace’d stop being so paranoid around them, but for now the only thing he could do was try and stop Ace from being so constantly pissed at them.

“You can’t go up there,” he said, ready to grab Ace again if Ace tried to ignore him.

“Why not?” Ace demanded, eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, I don’t need you trying to look after me!”    

“It’s _not_ your fight,” Marco snapped back, and didn’t bother pulling his cloak over his shoulders, knowing the bright red on his skin wasn’t something the marines liked to see, and remembering his impulsive promise to Ace. “So just stay here and stay out of the way, yoi.”

The words were more biting than he was aiming for, that much he could easily tell from Ace’s look of restrained fury, but when Marco escaped to the mess on deck he didn’t hear Ace’s boots clomping after him.

The entirety of the deck had dissolved into a messy skirmish, and Marco couldn’t pick out where Pops had gone, nor the place that needed his help the most.

Plunging into the fray, Marco lashed out with little compunction, knocking the marines straight overboard and helping any of his siblings that looked like they needed it. Most of them gave him a nod, sweat already clinging to their frames, and Marco chanced a glance to the side and swore when he noticed the sunshields weren’t raised.

“Curiel!” he shouted above the mess, and saw a burst of rapid gunfire before Curiel’s head popped up above the crowd. “Sunshields!” Marco ordered, and Curiel gave a salute, making his way to the navigator’s perch.

That second of distraction, however, was enough for a marine to sneak in a quick attack, slashing straight through the first layer of Marco’s nanotech and making him dance backwards before letting his wings flare out and spinning to kick the marine overboard.

He could see the faint speckles of blue escape into the air and grit his teeth, silently willing the nanotech to slide back over the small cut before his energy leaked into the open air and destroyed more of their allies than their enemies did.

Another marine darted at him, and he grit his teeth, snapping out a hard kick that sent his opponent reeling backwards.

Why had the Marines decided that - today, of all days - they should try and attack again was beyond Marco, but it was beyond frustrating to have been so close to finding another one of Ace’s bolt holes and then have been dragged away by the ill-timed attack. His frustration flickered across his skin, and Marco caught the section of his wings closest to his shoulders flare red.

It looked a bit like Ace’s fire, which made Marco grin, and he took a slightly unreasonable amount of pleasure in whipping out another kick that sent a whole row of Marines stumbling back and onto his sibling’s preferred weaponry.

A sudden flare of fire rippled heat across his skin, giving him a recharge that made him shake his head at the dizziness that came with it. His frustration returned, and he growled, gritting his teeth.

Ace had taken over for Jozu, who’d been preoccupied with one of the Captains that’d been onboard the Starfleet’s ships. He was taunting any marine that came close, fire rippling across his skin in an ethereal sheet of red and gold.

More stunning than that, though, was the fact that Ace was _protecting_ Jozu’s men. Whether subconsciously or not, it still made Marco stop and do a double take.

“Commander!” someone called, Marco’s mind immediately associating the voice with Toran, one of Jozu’s men. He reacted quickly, turning away from the blade of a marine’s sword and knocking him into Ace’s back. Ace barely paused, throwing the marine over his shoulder and then shooting Marco a glare.

“Do you _ever_ listen?” he demanded when he got close to Ace, taking in the carnage Ace had wrecked, the destruction he’d delivered to the Starfleet. It made furious pride well up in his chest, both emotions warring within him. “What are you doing, brat?” he growled instead of trying to put a name to the feeling.

“Don’t call me brat,” Ace spat back, eyes spitting sparks.

“Stop acting like one, yoi,” Marco said, lip curled. Something unidentifiable churned in his chest, but with a start his haki flared and he whipped around to deliver another crushing kick to a marine that’d tried to sneak up on him.

“You can’t stop me from fighting!” Ace shot back, and then they were dancing around each other, and Marco was so _sure_ that Ace would have his back that he let his focus extend to the battlefield around them.

“Do you really think I would try?” Marco said, and grinned viciously, dropping low as Ace turned and delivered a sharp punch to the marine in front of him. “I just want to know why you’re going to fight for us!”

“I hate the Marines,” Ace shot back, his face flushed in what was probably passionate rage, but it only made Marco grin more, turning and circling Ace, watching his back so they could have the conversation face-to-face. “I’m not fighting for you.”

Marco scoffed. “Get inside,” he said, “If your only reason to fight for the sake of fighting, brat-”

“Call me that _one more time_ and I’ll set _you_ on fire instead!” Ace roared, voice breaking, and then he whipped around, letting loose a punch that cleared a path in the deck. The pure destructive force of it sent energy spiralling in the air, and Marco involuntarily stole it, feeling his blood begin to sing again. Ace gripped his arm when he turned, and for a brief moment Marco was almost sure that Ace’s hand had sunk below the surface of his skin, but when he blinked the sight was gone.

Stubborn persistence – the knowledge that this was _their fight,_ not Ace’s – made him refuse to drop their argument. “This isn’t some petty bar fight,” he said, stalking closer and reacting automatically to any weapon that came his way, sending Marines sprawling, “This is a battle. You’re not fighting for yourself, you’re fighting for us!”

“That’s what I was doing!” Ace shouted, voice breaking and his own fights barely taking his attention. “That’s what I wanted to do!”   

Marco was stunned into sudden silence, staring at Ace, and realised in the split second that Ace’s eyes darted away that Ace’s pride meant he couldn’t say such a thing without feeling humiliation.

 _How stupid,_ he thought, feeling a grin stretch across his cheeks and then grabbing Ace’s arm, pulling him from the path of a sword. “Fine, yoi. Let’s fight.”

Ace’s head jolted up in surprise, but when he saw Marco’s expression his own madcap grin returned. Sweat matted his hair, but he barely seemed tired; as soon as Marco gave him permission he turned on his heel and began shooting off orders again, ripping through the marines with all the efficiency of a machine.

Marco was starting to think they’d never see the day. When Ace would be fighting _with_ them instead of against them.

As Ace disappeared into the mess of roiling fighters, Marco pulled his nanotech back, allowing energy to flare beneath his light orange and blue skin.

 _Worry?_ Marco thought to himself, feeling his expression flicker into a frown, but he pushed it away quickly. It was probably just because they were fighting, that was all.

That had to have been it.

* * *

 

They got through the battle with minimal injuries. The ship was quickly repaired under the clever hands of the shipwrights, and their crew under the quick hands of their clever doctors.

But Marco couldn’t find Ace anywhere.

He’d wanted to check on Ace after the fight, knowing the likelihood of Ace actually going to get medical attention was slim, but he hadn’t been able to find Ace anywhere. Using his haki didn’t help, either, with the mess of moving people constantly on deck.

It wasn’t until after dinner – and the subsequent party – that Marco finally felt Ace’s presence hovering by the foredeck, away from the celebrations.

He seemed…melancholic.

With a soft hum and a short wave at Thatch and Izo that told them he didn’t need help, Marco picked up a bowl of soup and headed towards where he could feel Ace’s presence.

He was sitting alone, back pressed to the railing, and for the first time instead of staring at the glittering stars he stared at his knees.

“This looks like fun, yoi,” Marco remarked quietly, but Ace didn’t jump, instead burying his head even further into his arms.

“It’s not,” he whispered, and Marco kneeled to set the bowl down by Ace’s shin, watching him carefully. “Marco-” Ace started, and the tone held enough of a question that Marco stopped and waited. “It’s- it’s been over a hundred times and I haven't even put a scratch on him,” Ace said, voice sounding hoarse, and Marco could see him press viciously against his eyes.

“Maybe, then,” Marco started carefully, hand gentle as he rested it on Ace’s shoulder, and he could feel Ace flinch under his palm but didn’t move it. “You’d do better to try something new?”

Ace’s fingers were twitching, his shoulder jolting under Marco’s hand. Ace’s hand curled into a fist, clenched tight, and then-

A tiny flicker of fire escaped his fist as he loosened his grip, and Ace swallowed before he lifted his head to look at Marco. Ace’s eyes blinked too fast, trying to clear his sight, and he sounded almost hopelessly desperate when he spoke. “Do you think that I could?”

Marco knelt down and let his thumb brush away the tear that was slipping across Ace’s cheekbone. “I know that all of us would like nothing less.”

When Ace offered him a shaky smile, Marco couldn’t help but grin back.

“I just- There’s just-” Ace said, and he took a deep breath, staring Marco down. “Why do you call him your father?”

Marco stared at him in surprise, unsure he’d understood Ace’s question. Then, he frowned contemplatively. He wasn’t sure if Ace would like the answer he gave, but it was the only one he had to offer. “He calls us his sons,” Marco said, giving a small shrug. “It- makes us feel like we belong. That even if we don’t fit anywhere else, this is- we _know_ this is where we belong, yoi. This is our family.”

Ace nodded slowly, like he was chewing the question over, and Marco rocked back on his heels, turning so he could properly face Ace. “If you want to join our crew, Ace, then join it. But if you don’t, there’s no use in waiting around here. Oyaji is our captain, our father and- well, if you’re still so persistent on refusing a father, then you _can’t._ If you wanna kill Pops then get off, rest, and start again. You won’t win, but you’ll have a better chance than you do now. We don’t want you to die. We want you to be part of our family. But we won’t do it if we have to force you.”

Ace’s shoulders shuddered minutely, eyes holding that tinge of desperation again, but Marco only stood and hardened his heart.

“We will never accept someone who doesn’t want to be here with all of their heart, who will only be _part_ of the crew. We want you to join our family, but that’s useless unless you want to join us, too.”

There was another beat of silence, and Marco sighed again, his eyes sliding shut. “Just think about it,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “We’ll arrive at Delak in four days, and you’ll be able to do what you like there. It’s big enough for you to disappear, if you wanted.”

Forcing himself not to say anymore, he stepped away from Ace’s body and went back to his family.

* * *

Marco’s words circled in his head like vultures. They dove for every excuse he tried to think up on why Marco was wrong, tearing his ideas to shreds.

_This is our family._

Ace didn’t know what to do with that admission. He’d heard tales of the Whitebeard pirates’ extraordinary loyalty to one another, even if they’d never met, but he’d never considered that in a crew so large they would all consider each other brothers and sisters. That they would consider each other family.

That they would consider Whitebeard their father.

Father was an abhorrent word to him, and yet-

When Marco said it, Ace couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like. To call someone his father.

To be _proud_ to call someone his father, because he had called Roger his father and yet had detested the title.

He was more _Roger’s son_ than Roger was his father, a differentiation he’d long since decided on. Nothing would ever be able to change that and he didn’t _want_ it to change. He didn’t want to admit that he’d spent the better half of his life hating someone who’d merely made a mistake, letting Ace be born.

But Ace’s convictions withered with every passing second, dying like they were flowers on the surface of Masrila, burnt and baked to a crisp till there were only ashes left. Could he even do that with his beliefs?

With a start, Ace realised that he’d already started the first flames; saving Thatch had been the first step on a slippery, horizontal slope. Once Whitebeard had decided that Ace was to be a part of his crew, nothing would likely stand in his way, and Ace-

Ace wasn’t sure he was opposed to that anymore. He felt like he _belonged_ here, more so than he’d ever felt on any planet before. Sure, the mountains of Goa and the tunnels of Masrila had been his home for so long that his heart panged at the thought of the familiar slopes and the tumbling latice of caves, but this-

He ate breakfast with them every morning. Had been conned into nightwatch and enjoyed it, trading stories with the older sailors or playing a card game or two. He half lived with the mechanics some days, and accepted their few presents, though he’d long since sworn that he had no use for useless things. Still, what use could the bright buckle on his belt possibly serve? What use did he have for the hairclip Izou had given him?

He flitted around their ship to talk to others as though he _belonged_.

And, as the days passed, he realised he’d forgotten one crucial thing; the flowers of Masrila grew back, stubborn and resilient and surviving for that second longer against the fury of Masrila’s sun-

But only because they’d changed.

He could feel himself changing now, could see the steps he’d taken that’d turned him from Captain of the Spade pirates into-

Well.

He wasn’t really sure of that anymore.

Ace didn’t know if he was Portgas D. Ace _,_ molecularly unstable _, truthful,_ Son of Whitebeard, or just-

Portgas D. Ace.

Coward.

* * *

Ace didn’t get off at Delak.

Nor did he get off at Keymos, or any of the following planets in the star systems they passed.

When they hit the outer rings of the Kaspion system, most of the crew had figured out that Ace wasn’t going to get off at all.

The rest figured it out when Ace slowly began to move his hoard of stuff into the bunk that Thatch’d given him when he first arrived, and if anyone hadn’t gotten it after that? Well, let it not be said that gossip didn’t travel fast.  

About a week after Ace had finally joined them in the mess hall for breakfast the first time, they ended up running into Shank’s crew - Marco was the first to spot the _Red Force_ coming close to them, and he’d signalled Curiel to bring them to a stop before he’d taken to the air and soared across the short distance.

“Hey, Phoenix!” Shanks said, grinning at him when Marco touched down in the middle of the _Red Force_ ’s deck. “Come over to join my crew?”

“What’re you here for, Red hair?” Marco asked, ignoring Shank’s question and the subsequent pout.

“Just wanna talk to your captain about a new acquisition you ‘pparently picked up,” Shanks said, and there was the tiniest flash of something serious on his face before Shanks covered it masterfully. “I brought presents!” he said, throwing Marco a large bottle of sake, and though Marco looked at Shanks disapprovingly, he still turned and flew back to the _Moby,_ the alcohol held tight in his talons.

Whitebeard had already taken his place of pride upon the deck, and the news about the _Red Force_ had gotten most of the crew above decks, watching as the two ships drew beside one another.

Shanks, Ben, and Yassop boarded as Marco rearranged his cloak to cover his colour again, and though only those three had come across, Marco still kept a wary eye on the rest of the _Red Force_ ’s crew.

Shanks made a beeline straight for Whitebeard, blowing Marco a kiss that Marco irritably swatted away with a glare.

“I heard you got someone new on your crew!” Shanks said, hand resting none-too-subtly on his sword, “It’s someone I’ve been looking out for for a while, so if you wouldn’t mind-”

His words and his actions made Marco bristle, unused to this demanding side of Shanks. What could he possibly want with Ace was beyond Marco’s understanding, but if Shanks thought he’d be able to take Ace without them all putting up a fight-

“ _Shanks?_ ” Ace yelled, and half the crew did a double take as Ace darted through the crowd and sprung on Shanks. Most reached for the weapons, ready in case Shanks tried something.

However, instead of a sword run through Ace’s chest, Shanks scooped him up, squishing him into a tight hug. “Sparky!” he said, grinning, and Ace swatted Shanks on the shoulder, but-

He was _laughing._

This time, the entire crew did a double take, staring at Ace’s bright grin and listening to his fast-paced chatter. Shanks was watching Ace with no small amount of adoration, his own lips spread in a grin that tried, but couldn’t put Ace’s to shame.

Marco’s heart did something stupidly painful in his chest as he watched Ace and Shanks talk like there was no-one else on deck, throwing around words that were obviously names like _Luffy_ and _Makino_ and slipping between languages with an ease that-

Well, he wasn’t sure _how_ it made him feel, but all he could tell was that he didn’t like it. It was almost possessiveness that came to mind as Marco’s first guess, but it didn’t seem to fit properly, and he tore his eyes away from Ace and Shanks, brushing his cloak to the side.

His entire arm was an ugly _green._

 _Jealousy?_ he questioned in shock, staring at the dark colour, and before any of his siblings could notice he’d pulled the cloak back over his skin again. What on earth did he have to be _jealous_ of?

And how the hell did Shanks and Ace even _know_ each other? That was a more pressing concern than any stupid jealousy!

Haruta darted to Ace’s side when Shanks carefully put him back onto the deck, and Ace looked at her, still grinning as brightly as a star.

“Are you his dad?” Haruta asked, squinting at Shanks suspiciously.

Ace burst into howling laughter, clutching at his stomach.

Shanks’ face looked absolutely betrayed, and stared at Ben, heartbroken. “His _dad?_ ” Shanks parroted mournfully. “How old do you think I _am_ ? I’m not Ace’s _dad_!”

Ace, wheezing by his side, only burst into more laughter at the sight of Shanks’ face, clutching his stomach. “Oh Stars, Haruta-” he said, trying to catch his breath and waving his hand uselessly in an effort to grab something and straighten up. “Shanks is my brother’s-” he paused, looking a bit hopeless. “Er- protegee?” he thought for a second longer, and then snapped his fingers. “Idol! Shanks is my brother’s idol!”

“You have a _brother?_ ” Haruta said, staring at Ace, and Ace seemed to suddenly realise that he had the attention of the entire Whitebeard crew on him. He flushed, freckles flickering.

“Er- yeah. His name’s Luffy, and he’s the biggest troublemaker you’ve ever seen. Got the luck of a fuckin’ likvon, though. Devil, in common.” Ace turned back to Shanks, his brow knit just barely in a way that made Marco step to Haruta’s side. “Is something up with Lufe?”

Shanks shook his head, patting Ace on the shoulder, and it made Marco’s feathers bristle to see Ace didn’t demand Shanks immediately stop touching him. “Nah, nah Sparky. Just heard you’d shacked up with these guys! You’re breaking my heart! If you wanted to join a crew you know we would’a taken you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know Shanks.” Ace laughed, rubbing the back of his head and missing that the crew was now glaring at Shanks with open hostility. With how long it’d taken all of them to get Ace to open up, the fact that Shanks had done it with such _ease-_

Well, Marco could understand why a few of them were pissed. Personally, he was trying to get rid of the sinking feeling that Ace would be leaving on the _Red Force_ now Shanks was here - Shanks, whom Ace obviously got along with better than anyone else on Whitebeard’s crew.

“Anyway, kid, there’s something I figure you need to know.” Shanks’ hand found Ace’s shoulder again, and Marco had to resist the urge to peel Shanks’ fingers off, instead folding his arms beneath his cloak. “Would you mind, Whitebeard?” Shanks asked, looking up, and Marco could see Whitebeard bristle. Ace’s expression turned into a silent ‘please?’ and Marco watched Whitebeard’s resistance crumble.

Whitebeard nodded, and Shanks steered Ace towards the _Red Force._ When Marco moved to follow, however, Ben held up a hand and stopped him. “It’s important,” he said, tone perfectly even.

“Important enough to keep his crew out of it?” Marco said, feathers bristling, but Ben only watched him carefully.  

“From what I hear, you aren’t his crew yet,” Ben said softly, and without even looking Marco knew that red was sliding across his skin.  

Better red than green and dark blue, he thought, trying to ignore the part of his head that ordered him to chase after Ace and get him to stay aboard the _Moby,_ and the part in his chest that felt agonisingly hollow _._

Ben folded his arms, leaning against the railing of the _Moby_ , and Yasopp came to join him, hopping up to sit on the edge. His amalgamated limbs swung haphazardly as he did so, and with a quiet whistle he began to work on tightening some of the strings that held his fingers to his hand.

Marco only wished that Ace’s ties were that easy to see, and that easy to tighten.

* * *

 

The first thing Ace did when he got aboard the _Red Force_ was greet some of the pirates that’d been his companions as a kid. Shanks had visited Masrila often when Ace was younger, and as he grew older and started figuring out the reason why, Ace had taken great delights in teasing him about Makino.

Shanks’d been the one that Ace had hitched a ride with when he eventually decided to leave, and though it was a bit earlier than the age he and Sabo had picked, Ace had stayed out of the limelight and doggedly followed on Ben’s heels, learning everything he could about running his own ship.

Unlike the pirates of old, who could trust the wind in their sails and the sea beneath them, sailing amongst the stars required a smidgen more training, and Ace didn’t want to have to rely on anyone else when he eventually got his crew. Sure, he’d trust them to do their jobs, but-

Well, he’d always been self-reliant.

 _Spade’_ s first repairs had been in the _Red Force’_ s hold, and Ace had carved three scars into the metal plating he’d used to repair her, reminiscent of Shanks’.

Shanks was one of the few people he’d trusted with the truth about his destabilisation, about how he’d been destabilising for years, the subtle differences that marked abnormalities in his own unstable structure when compared to other moleculars. He couldn’t help but hope now that Shanks had found something that could help him.

“What’s up?” he asked when they finally made it to Shanks’ cabin and relative privacy. Shanks’ jovial expression had turned entirely serious, and Ace leaned against Shanks’ desk, preparing himself for the worst.  

“The marines are sniffing at your tail, Ace.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Dunno why, dunno how, but they seem to think you’re a walking power plant. Maybe even as much as the Phoenix.”

“Shanks, that’s _impossible,_ ” Ace said, but his mind was already running through theories for other reasons as to why the Marines could possibly be after him. “I’m nothing like Marco - hell, they can go ahead and try and use me as an energy source! It’ll only blow ‘em sky high!”

“There’s a scientist who works ‘round the quasars,” Shanks said, shifting the jacket he wore and rubbing at the stump of his arm in memory. “His name’s Vegapunk. He seems to think there’s something different about you, compared to the other moleculars he created-”

“Gold Roger created them,” Ace muttered bitterly, and Shanks cast him a sharp glance.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell it to you again, kid,” he said, pushing a finger into the middle of Ace’s forehead and making Ace rock backwards. “My captain did nothing of the sort.”

Ace scoffed, and the sound made Shanks heave a heavy sigh, peeling off his long coat and throwing it over the back of a chair. His red-tinted skin shifted, but unlike Marco’s mood-dependent colour, Shanks only ever stayed the same vibrant red as his hair.

“Sparky,” Shanks said, in a tone that bordered impatient. “I know you don’t like Roger, and hell, I even understand the reason _why._ But Roger only attacked Vega’s damn plant as a favour for a friend. Same friend you’re sailing with, actually.”

“What?” Ace said, bolting up from where he leaned against Shanks’ desk. “ _Whitebeard_?”

“I don’t know everything,” Shanks cautioned, dark eyes pinning Ace still, “but what I do know is that twenty years ago we pulled up with Whitebeard and he and Roger had a talk. Then, after that, Roger said we were going to the edge of space, where Vegapunk’s lab was. I was stuck on backup and comms, which sucked shit, but even twenty miles out that explosion still got me.” He flexed his arm pointedly, and red slid beneath his skin like an oil slick.  

“We got out, but only a few weeks passed until the whole crew that attacked Vegapunk ended up weird. People missing limbs, dissolving into lightning or smoke or water. Roger had it worse, though. That was when we found out he was dyin’, the damn bastard.

“Ten months after that, the first signs of other moleculars began popping up, and Roger told us he was going to give himself in and get the planet Masrila a pardon, and the Goa system a truce zone between the Starfleet and us pirates, for anyone who wanted to use it. That ways, if we ever wanted some place to go home to - any place to catch our breath, he said - we’d have somewhere safe. ‘Course, no-one I know’s ever used it as anything more than a place to restock coactal and get drunk, but-”

 _It was to hide me,_ Ace thought, the realisation hitting him with enough force to make him clench the desk he was still propped against. His knees felt weak, like his stomach had dropped out and his bones had been dragged with it, and he half collapsed against the wood of Shanks’ desk.

 _Roger got Masrila protected...For_ me.

“Sparky?” Shanks called, and Ace felt Shanks’ warm hand rest against his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Ace? Kid, if you pass out on me, Whitebeard’s gonna have my head. Damn bastard’s way too overprotective of his sons.”

Ace gave a twisted grin, trying to figure out if there was still floor beneath his feet; if the room still existed around him, because for a moment it seemed as though everything had been turned upside down.

“Don’t have the tatt yet,” he croaked jokingly, and Shanks gave a laugh.

“Hell, Ace, that ain’t an indication of you being his son.” Shanks’ knuckles rubbed through his hair, and Ace made a noise of protest, swatting at Shanks’ hand.”If that were true they’d’ve grabbed you first chance and made you wear temporary tatts for _weeks._ ”

Ace laughed at the thought, imagining Izo’s look of absolute confusion when the tattoo would vanish beneath Ace’s holoprojector, and Shanks’s tight smile melted into one of relief.

“Look. sparky, I just wanted to warn you. Vegapunk thinks- well, he suspects- that you’re unstable, but that you’ve been like that for years longer than anyone should have a right to. Not that I’m not pleased as pearberry punch that you’re alive to travel with us, but it’s a mystery, and Vegapunk hates mysteries.”

“Tell ‘im I’d like to know myself,” Ace said, thinking back on the stupidly cryptic message Roger had left for him. “I’ll keep an eye out, Shanks. Thanks.”

Shanks nodded, then reached out and grabbed his coat again, swinging it over his shoulder. “Well, now that _that’s_ over with,” he declared, hitching his elbow with Ace’s, “I demand to meet the crew you’ve replaced us with! Introduce me to your new bestieeeees,” Shanks made a whining noise, batting his long lashes at Ace, and Ace laughed, tugging on Shanks’ arm and leading him out of the cabin.

“Well,” he started, already preparing for a dry throat after they finished talking, “you already know Marco-”

* * *

 

Shanks had left after only a few hours, and Marco hadn’t been able to say truthfully that he wasn’t glad Shanks had left.

Ace hadn’t gone with him, either, but while he was bidding his goodbyes to some of the people aboard the _Red Force,_ Shanks’s hand had clamped down on Marco’s shoulder. Marco couldn’t help but glare at him.  

“Don’t hurt him,” Shanks said, watching Ace grin and laugh with members of his crew, and Marco brushed Shanks’ hand off his shoulder. “Figured it’s a moot point by now, Phoenix, but-”

“No buts,” Marco interrupted, crossing his arms. “Ace is my brother now, even if he isn’t marked.”

Shanks shrugged, grinning as he pushed his hand into his pocket. “Right-o, bird brain. But hey, remember you’re free to follow if he ever decides he wants a change of scenery!”

Marco glared, but it only made Shanks laugh, patting him on the shoulder and then signalling to Ben and Yassop that they were leaving. Ben bid his goodbyes to Izo, and Yassop untangled himself from Jozu and Curiel and their discussion on weaponry.

With a tip of his head, Shanks was gone, and Ace came to stand by Marco’s side.

“You don’t like him much, do you?” Ace asked, waving at Shanks for a moment before letting his arm drop as the _Red Force_ sailed away.

 _What’s there to like,_ Marco thought to himself grumpily, but he knew that such an attitude was completely unfair - and a little ridiculous. “We’re rivals,” Marco said instead, turning away from the _Red Force._ “He asks me to join his crew, I turn him down.. We know where we stand.”

_But I don’t know where you stand._

Ace gave a quiet snort, and something hot bubbled in Marco’s stomach at the fact that the right to hear Ace’s laughter - earlier so easy to draw from him - had been revoked.

“Hey, Ace!” Thatch called from across the ship, and then his form had shifted and he moved to Ace’s side, throwing his arm over Ace’s shoulders. “What’s this brother of yours like? Think he’d joined us if we asked pretty enough?” he asked, as Ace let Thatch’s arm swing over his head and then continued walking like nothing was wrong.  

Ace grinned, giving his head a quick shake. “No way,” he said, making his way to the mess hall for the lunch he’d no doubt skipped out on. “Luffy always said he’s gonna be King of the Stars. He’d never sail under anyone else’s flag, not even Shanks’.”

“King of the Stars?” Thatch parroted back loudly, pushing open the door, but Ace only gave a proud grin.

“He’s an idiot,” Ace said, but didn’t debunk Luffy’s dream. Whether it was out of faith or just devotion, Marco couldn’t tell, but Ace’s loyalty still eased the sting that Shanks had given him when he’d first come aboard the _Moby._ One day, Ace was going to be that loyal to _them,_ and Marco would wait for as long as needed till that happened.

“Come on, bird brain!” Ace said, casting him a grin, and Marco hurried forwards with a rueful, annoyed smile at the nickname, catching up to him and Thatch. “I’m not missing lunch because yo-,” he trailed off, eyes caught on Marco’s chest, and Marco felt his brow knit in confusion as to why.

He slowed, and looked down just as Ace’s hand moved to hover above his skin, curious attention focused entirely on the shift of colour on Marco’s skin that followed after his hand.

Marco felt his heart stop.

His skin was _gold._

Useless stammers fell from his lips, and he quickly backed away, pulling his cloak tight over his chest as he stuttered out an excuse. “Hey, where’s Marco going?” he heard Thatch question from behind him, but he’d already made his escape, leaving Ace standing alone and confused by the galley door.

The door to Marco’s room slammed shut behind him, and Marco rested against it, feeling his heart in his throat and phantom heat from Ace’s fingertips on his arm.

This couldn’t be happening. Not _now._ Not for _Ace!_

Marco scrubbed at his own skin roughly, lip bitten beneath his teeth as he tried to erase the gold that speckled his skin, but it was futile. It seemed to taunt him, glittering and shifting around his hands.

 _This can’t be gold_ , Marco thought uselessly, sliding down the door, arm clasped close to his chest. _Ace didn’t- he isn’t-_

_Ace won’t know what it means._

* * *

It took Ace a week to notice that Marco was avoiding him. It took an hour for him to come to the conclusion that it was because he still hadn’t given Marco an answer on whether or not he’d join the crew.

But it’d taken less than half a minute for him to know that it was his fault.

* * *

The first thing Thatch noticed of the entire mess was that after more than a month of eating with them, Ace suddenly stopped. It was actually only luck that Thatch found Ace eating at all, squeezing in snacks between when the rest of the crew would be working.

The second was that Marco, (for all his careful attempts at hiding it from Thatch) had started to avoid Ace utterly, or limited their time together for five minutes blocks of awkward, stilted conversation that had Marco scurrying away whenever Ace’s lips so much as twitched into a smile.

It was about as much of a confession as Thatch had ever seen (especially from Marco), and so he’d hunted down Ace during lunch, bearing an armful of meat to coax Ace from hiding. It worked remarkably quickly, all things considered, and Thatch wished he’d known how easy it was to find Ace during earlier attempts to befriend him.

With Ace at his feet, happily mowing through the piles Thatch had bought along, Thatch decided to finally broach the subject.

“So,” he started carefully, keeping one eye out for any eavesdroppers. Or an escape route. He didn’t want Ace bolting for it at the first chance. “What’s up with you and our resident featherhead?”

Ace paused slightly, the barest hesitation before he took another bite and chewed angrily. “No’fin,” he said around a mouth of meat, almost petulantly, and Thatch had to smother a grin.

“Don’t even try that with me, flame brain,” Thatch chided, flicking Ace in the head. “I may be dumb but I got eyes, don’t I?”

“I suppose,” Ace mumbled, and Thatch saw him swallow the rest of the meat in his hands but not reach for more. “He just won’t- He just won’t show me anything anymore,” Ace said, nose crinkling as he stared at the diminished pile of food Thatch had bought. “And I know it was probably my fault but he just- he won’t let me _fix_ it.”

Thatch’s brow furrowed as he stared at Ace, and the silence stretched for too long; Ace grabbed another piece of meat and quickly devoured it, barely swallowing. “I don’t care that he won’t show off his colour anymore, Thatch, I don’t, I just- I wanna understand _why._ Why’s he let you guys see, but not me anymore?”

Thatch blinked at him. “We don’t see his colour.” He said, staring at Ace with no small amount of confusion. “Marco almost always covers up,”

Ace stared back at him, and they spent a good chunk of time trying to figure out who was wrong. “He- he really doesn’t, though.” Ace finally said, in the type of tone that Thatch had heard many times, the one that said ‘I’m pretty sure I’m right and you’re a little delusional’. Ace, however, followed that tone with, “I’ve seen his skin and his marks loads of times. Like, when I first met you guys, Marco told me about how he changed colour, and that I should trust him, and-,” Ace flushed slightly in embarrassment, something almost like a blush flickering across his skin that Thatch didn’t catch properly. “When I was trying to off Whitebeard, he told me he couldn’t lie, and after that he bought me food so I could be sure it wasn’t poisoned, and-”

Thatch could feel his mouth dropping open at the list Ace was presenting him with, and if he hadn’t been sure before he sure as hell was _now._ “So he- if you had to count, how many-?” Thatch said, already flicking through memories and finding the one constant in almost all of them.

That, ever since Ace had arrived, Marco’s skin had slowly been uncovered more and more.

“I dunno?” Ace said, staring at him and Thatch forced himself to pay attention to the conversation again. “I guess- I dunno! He used to do it all the time and now he just _won’t!_ ”

 _Holy stars, Marco,_ he thought to himself, _you’ve got to be kidding me._

“I’m gonna need you to excuse me for a sec, Ace.” Thatch said, pulling himself from against the wall. “Come by Marco’s cabin in a bit, okay? I’ll get it figured out for you. Promise.” He flashed the stunned-looking Ace a grin, and hurried off before he could hear Ace’s stammered protests, making a beeline straight for Marco’s room.

He didn’t bother with any niceties as he burst into Marco’s room, with a quite blatant demand of, “Marco, what the _fuck?_ ”

Marco raised his head from his desk, blinking at Thatch. The expression of confusion morphed easily  into a glare, and Marco said with a quiet venom, “Could you _ever_ consider knocking?”

“Considered it, decided I didn’t like it,” Thatch shot back flippantly, and crossed the room in easy strides, leaning on Marco’s desk. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you liked Ace?”

Marco’s posture jolted straight, like an electric spark had shot down his spine, and he glared even more grumpily, feathers bristling. “Ace is very likeable,” he said, eyes narrowed and hands clasped around the edge of his desk.

“Liked a bit more than _liked_ by our resident feather head, though!” Thatch shot back.

“I don’t know what you're implying, thank you very much.”

Thatch laughed at him then, grinning at Marco’s flustered face. He was turning a light shade of _pink,_ a colour Thatch had never seen on Marco’s skin.“Right, Marco. I believe you. Would you just mind explaining, then, why he gets to see your markings so often? Oh, and do explain why you let him see your colour if you aren’t head over heels.”

“I am not ‘head over heals’,” Marco shot back, teeth gritted, “A majority of those times were when he didn’t trust us-”

Thatch tutted at him. “Yeah? So all the times after, then? What were they?”

Marco was saved from having to answer as the door slammed open again. They both jumped, and Marco’s skin turned a startled fluorescent yellow before shifting to an angry red.

“What is _with_ everyone barging in today?” Marco snapped out, “Can no-one knock-?”

Ace stood in the doorway, looking sheepish, and Marco trailed off. “Sorry,” he said, trying to hide his grin under an apologetic look, but Thatch could only watch as Marco’s red faded and strange colours began to flicker on what skin Thatch could see. One of them almost looked as though it _glowed._

Marco’s eyes flicked to Thatch and with the scrape of chair legs he stood and stepped around his desk, pushing Ace out the door. “I’m very sorry Ace, but at the moment, I’m a little busy-”

“Oh, that’s okay, Thatch just-”

“You'll have to excuse me, but if you want Thatch just wait a moment, he’ll be out soon-”

“But, wait, I just wanted to ask-”

Marco shut the door in his face, breathing out heavily and rubbing at his face. “Shut up Thatch,” Marco growled without looking back, but Thatch only grinned, raising his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything, bird brain.”

“You thought it, that’s almost as bad.”

“Your hands are gold,” Thatch remarked, taking a step forwards, and Marco sighed again, lifting his head from the door.

“I know, yoi.” He said, trying to pull his cloak closer around him and hiding the rest of his skin from Thatch’s sight. Marco fastened him with a glare, expression stern. “But I don’t want you meddling, got it? Just leave it _alone._ Ace- he’s-”

Thatch started at him uncomprehendingly, before blurting, “Marco, you turn _gold._ ”

Marco grit his teeth. “I know,” he repeated, and Thatch could see him tense, eyes squeezed shut. “But I- I can’t do this to him, alright? If he figures it out, _fine,_ but just- don’t tell him, Thatch. Don’t tell him.”

“ _Why?_ ” Thatch breathed, brow knit. “Marco, if he makes you happy enough for you to _change colour_ , then why won’t you say anything? He thinks you’re mad at him!”

 _Mad_ at him? Marco questioned, feeling a laugh bubble up in the back of his throat. That was the exact opposite of his problem. That was something that could’ve been _fixed._

“Thatch, it’s complicated _,_ ” Marco said, unable to articulate exactly what he wanted to say; that he’d be taking advantage of Ace, that he would live for years after Ace died, that he didn’t want to bare his colour - his heart - and then have it all be broken to pieces when Ace said no.  

That he was terrified.

“Only ‘cause you’re making it that way!” Thatch said, crossing his arms and refusing to back down. “Hell, he probably likes you back. Don’t you see how much regard he holds for you, Marco?”

Marco snorted, head tilted to the side, away from Thatch’s piercing gaze. He’d so easily summed up everything that stopped Marco from ever confessing; regard was different than _love,_ and how would anyone ever fall in love with those they held on a pedestal? At best, Ace’d be disillusioned when the version he had in his head of Marco turned out to be different from reality. At worst, Ace’d confuse his feelings of admiration for something more, and when they eventually broke up, Marco would’ve ruined their friendship by trying to trade it for something slightly different.

“Stop meddling, Thatch,” Marco said quietly, and saw from the corner of his eye that Thatch clenched his fists.

“I’m your best friend, Marco. Is it wrong for me to want you to be happy?”

Marco’s lips twisted, and this time he couldn’t help the breath of laughter that escaped him. “Thatch- I don’t care.” He said, and this time he could actually look Thatch in the eyes, giving Thatch a small smile. “Just- him being a part of the crew? Him being happy? That’s all I want.”

_He’ll never realise, and I'm glad for it. If he's happy-_

_That's more than enough for me._

Thatch looked at him for another moment, mouth open to protest, but then he sighed. Moving past Marco to the door, Thatch let his hand curl in the fabric of Marco’s cloak, gently tugging Marco around, and said, “I hope it is, Marco. And you remember-”

“I know, Thatch.” Marco smiled again, gently unlatching Thatch’s hand from the Phoenix suit before the fabric could shift and show off the colours on his skin.

Thatch looked at him again, careful and scrutinising, but Marco only met his gaze evenly, knowing that Thatch could read him as easily as if they were fighting. It wasn’t the same thing, this silent standoff-

But then again, it was close enough that when Thatch finally left, Marco felt tension bleed from him in a sigh. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his cloak, and he bit the inside of his cheek before he pulled back the light fabric. “I don’t care,” he repeated to himself quietly, and watched black and blue roil across his skin.

* * *

 

It was stupid to be bitter, but Ace couldn’t help it. When Thatch had come out of Marco’s room, his face set into an expression that Ace couldn’t read, all Ace could think was _you broke your promise._

But he bit his tongue instead of saying it, swallowing past a tight throat. “Don’t suppose you- know what I did?”

Thatch almost jumped, startled, and Ace bit his tongue for real this time, trying to get over how much it hurt to be ignored by someone he considered his friend.

Was starting to consider as his brother.

“I’m sorry, Ace,” Thatch said, and Ace gave a curt nod, having already easily figured out that Thatch hadn’t been able to get Marco to see that, for whatever Ace had done, whatever slight he’d committed, he was _sorry._ “It’s not your fault, though, I promise. This is just something Marco needs to work through by himself.”

 _Translation,_ Ace’s head whispered, in that traitorous voice he’d gotten so good at locking away in the back of his mind, _you fucked up, and you won’t be able to fix it until Marco finally decides to let you fix it._

He nodded slowly, refusing to let Thatch see the turmoil that was spinning his thoughts in useless circles, and his body moved on autopilot when he raised his hand into a half-hearted wave. “Thanks for helping, Thatch,” he said, because he knew that he should, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Thatch’s help will have made it better or worse.   

Something uncontrollable was bubbling in the back of his throat, the start of a shout, or a scream, some useless noise that he wanted to direct straight through Marco’s door until it hit Marco and forced him to let Ace know what would fix this stubborn silence between them.

That feeling only grew as they passed Monaticula, and Ziro, and by the time they hit the desert range of Alabasta’s planets, bypassing perilously close to Crocodile’s territory in Alaburna, Ace couldn’t stand watching Marco pull his cloak over his shoulders and escape their conversations with feeble excuses.

He wanted to ask Marco _why_ he wasn’t allowed to see Marco’s colour anymore, why he was being cut from Marco’s emotions when Marco had previously been so forthcoming. He wanted to know why anything had to change, now, when Marco had been so open before. Why he’d decided to cover up his colours around Ace again.

What he’d done to piss Marco off, because-

It was his fault, surely, and Ace _needed_ to fix it. He couldn’t stand being at odds with Marco, with not knowing the little truths behind Marco’s words, with no bright flares of colour shifting hypnotically on Marco’s skin.

But, Ace found, even if he never got to see the colour of Marco’s skin again, he found he didn’t care - as long as Marco would just _talk_ to him again. Would explain what Ace’d done wrong and let him fix it.

He hated being kept out of Marco’s life, his thoughts, his ideas, the witty adages he would insert into a conversation. He was so _frustrated_ with being cut out, with having Marco purse his lips when Ace came near, with Marco’s see-through excuses and even with everyone else’s company it-

It wasn’t the same. He _hated_ that it wasn’t the same, he couldn’t figure out why in all the stars that it _wouldn’t_ be the same, but it just wasn’t.

And there was a part of him saying, _he’s your best friend,_ but another only laughed at the thought, and his feelings had dissolved into such a confusing, frustrating tangle that the next time Marco backed away from him, fabric pulled over his arms, Ace didn’t let him escape. Instead, he grabbed Marco’s forearm, feeling Marco’s armguards melt into downy feathers even as he concentrated on yanking Marco to a stop.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he demanded, knowing it was stupid but needing answers more than he needed to avoid Marco’s company. He’d given Marco time to sort it out, he’d been patient, but-

He was angry. And letting Marco work through it alone, without Ace trying to apologise at least _once?_ Well, it felt to much like cowardice.

“Doing what?” Marco said, and his voice sounded even, but Ace caught the tiniest flash of orange and something yellow-shaded flicker across Marco’s skin. It made anger bubble even further in his chest, that there was something that Marco found _amusing_ about this, and even if he’d seen the colour of worry first he couldn’t push that yellow glitter from his head.

“‘Doing what’?” Ace parroted back, mocking, “Well, hey, I’ll give you a list, _bird brain._ Brushing me off whenever you’re not _ignoring_ me, hiding your stupid colour even though you promised you wouldn’t-”

“You- you trust us now. I figured it’d be stupid-”

It was stupid, Ace knew, but that wasn’t the _point._ He’d already decided that he didn’t give a flying fuck about whether or not he ever saw the colour on Marco’s skin again. All he wanted was for Marco to _trust_ Ace enough to stop covering the colours he did have.

“It is stupid! Stupid that you think you have to hide from me, that you should just-” he couldn’t help the frustrated cry that slipped past his lips. “Just tell me what I did _wrong_ Marco, please.”

He tried to stay angry, but the desperation that seeped into his voice was more than obvious, and he caught Marco’s expression freeze and then collapse, pity and guilt in his eyes.

“Oh Ace, no,” he said, brows knit tightly, and for the first time in weeks Marco carefully touched him, twisting Ace’s grip till he could hold onto Ace’s hand. “I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong. You _haven’t_ done anything, wrong. I-”

Marco stopped, hand tightening around Ace’s, and then he seemed to realise what, exactly, he was clenching so hard. A pink flared across his cheeks, creeping beneath the collar of the Phoenix suit, and Ace wanted to know if it would stretch all the way down past Marco’s collarbone, would paint his shoulders and the swirls that twined under his skin the same set of shades, like an unfolding rose.

He shook his head, trying to banish the thought, eyes darting up to see the panic written in Marco’s expression, and he stretched forwards again, trying to stop Marco from running, but Marco had already stepped back.

“If it’s not my fault-” he tried, begging, and could see Marco’s eyes flick closed, to tight to be anything but a muffled curse inside Marco’s head.

 _It is your fault,_ he thought with absolute certainty, and it was so, so selfish of him to force Marco to try and comfort him and assuage his fears, but Marco had done it anyway and now both parts of Ace’s head were at war.

Marco had never lied to him, and his skin hadn’t turned black when he’d spoken - but then again, it wasn’t like Ace could see much of his skin anymore.

Then, the pads of Marco’s fingers settled gently on his cheek, the barest touch that Ace couldn’t help leaning into. “I-,” Marco started, and he looked like he was fighting to get the words out, before swallowing them back and giving up. “I’ll work it out.” He promised instead, and Ace _knew_ that wasn’t what Marco was going to say but couldn’t find it in himself to challenge Marco’s words. “I’ll fix it, alright? This is my problem to figure out.”

Ace made a muffled noise of assent, feeling his teeth grate against each other. “If it is my fault, though, Marco-” he started, watching as Marco started to shake his head vehemently, but Ace refused to be cut off this time. “For whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Marco said sternly, and then he leaned closer and somehow, for some reason, Ace’s heart started beating much too quickly, and a flush of heat rocked from his chest all the way down to the tips of his toes.

Marco’s lips pressed to his forehead, warm and soft and the barest glance of pressure to prove that they’d been there, and Ace’s eyes closed to enjoy the fleeting sensation. He couldn’t find it in himself to order Marco to move, even while knowing that it was a bad idea for Marco to be anywhere near his holoprojector, but-

If he wanted to join them, he’d have to tell them, someday.

It should’ve been more surprising that Ace didn’t care if Marco figured it out now; but Ace found that he _knew_ Marco wouldn’t draw back from him because of it. That his carefully choreographed touches - ones that Ace could avoid, if he chose - wouldn’t stop. That his kindness and his smile and his wit wouldn’t vanish if Ace told Marco about the fire that ate away at Ace’s limbs.

If it was Marco’s problem to work through, then so be it - he’d already gone and decided.

He trusted Marco.  

* * *

 

Marco decided after week one of having the colour on his skin that gold was one of his least favourite colours ever. At week two, he'd given up entirely on pretending gold wasn't officially the most hated colour his skin had ever turned. By week three and all his subsequent failings to control the gold, Marco was almost considering throwing his share of any treasure overboard, just so that he never had to look at anything gold ever again.

The worst part was that Ace had picked up on it. Marco had been trying to avoid him until he got the colour sorted out, until he figured out _why_ he was turning gold (because it couldn't possibly have been because he _liked Ace._ Though he granted there were some things he liked about Ace - well, a lot of things, actually - and he respected Ace a lot but he didn't- his feelings weren't enough to turn _gold_ for-)

But Thatch had thrown _that_ plan overboard when he found out about what Marco - and his skin - were doing. He'd accused Marco of _liking_ Ace, and Marco-

It hadn't been a lie when he refuted it the first time. If Thatch asked him now-

Marco wasn't sure if his skin would still stay blue and not black.

He'd been struggling so hard against the prospect, trying to expose himself to get rid of the sudden skips his heart would make whenever Ace laughed or smiled, but in the second when his concentration would waver Ace’s fingertips would brush his arm or they'd end up shoulder-to-shoulder and Marco would have to spit out an excuse and escape before his skin turned into a roiling riot of shining gold.

He hated it. He was used to being in control, used to knowing what was going on in his head, but every time he tried to think about why _gold,_ why _Ace_ he found himself stepping straight towards a mess of _feelings._

It seemed stupid, and to simple, and not at all like it was as big a dilemma as Marco had worked out to be, but-

The only explanation he could think of for the sparkling motes of gold was that he - _him,_ Marco the Phoenix, Whitebeard’s first division commander, only escapee of a planet that hated the stars -

He was in love with Ace.

The realization fit so perfectly, so easily, so comfortably, that for a moment Marco fully convinced himself that it was the right answer. Then, he thought over it again and felt like tearing out his hair in frustration because he _couldn't_ be!

It simply wasn't possible for him to be _in love_ with Ace, Marco barely knew Ace past the walls he kept up around others, love wasn't born from simple _curiosity-_

But the more he thought it over, the more it fit, taking pride of place in all his theories no matter how much he hated it.

Somehow, once he'd come to that realization  (forced and unwanted though it may have been) Marco found it easier to control the gold. He couldn't will it away entirely, but he could isolate the colour and cover it. If anyone wondered why Marco started wearing his arm guards more often, no-one commented on it, and Ace slowly stopped being so tense when Marco finally began to hang around him again, skin blatantly on display.

It made Marco _happy,_ and then it made him mad, and then he was mad at himself for being mad because of course he'd want the newest almost-member of their crew to be happy, and nothing made sense about it so Marco pushed it to the back of his head and tried to forget about it.

He focused on the things he could control, and made a list of all the things he needed to do, slowly cutting down on his time with Ace (and oh stars, it was terrifying to see how much time Ace had carved out of Marco’s life and Marco finally realized that _this_ would've been where it all started).

Cutting down on his time with Ace just seemed to make the gold worse,though, like longing to be close could aggravate it, but that was stupid because they were literally only a door or two apart most of the time, and everything about this illogical situation frustrated Marco to the utmost degree. He'd taken to working out on the deck, where Ace spent most of his time and the gold faded back to manageable levels, leaving him - thankfully - still able to work.

It was amazing how much more productive he could be when he was avoiding something.

It wasn't until he'd finished half the paperwork for ship transfers and docking licences that'd piled up that he realised he still owed Ace an apology. The thought came on a breezy half-musing, that Ace had tried to apologize when it wasn't his fault, so shouldn't Marco have _actually_ apologised, seeing as it _was_ his fault?

Ace waved at him from where he and Curiel were working on knots and safety rigs for repairing the ship while at sail, and Marco couldn't tamp down the urge to wave back.

He looked so much _happier_ now, and Marco had almost ruined that because he couldn't get a grip on what only likely amounted to a stupid crush.

 _You're in love with him,_ chimed up the corner of his head that he'd resolutely been ignoring. He shoved the thought back down, trying to fool himself into thinking that the apology he’d been planning  to make up for the stress he’d put Ace through was something he’d do for just anyone.

It took half a minute for Marco to lose that fight, so he turned his attention back to his paperwork, the back of his head chipping away at a quiet idea.

Putting care into the apology gift meant an extra week of waiting, but it also meant that when Marco asked Ace to follow him Ace wasn’t suspicious of what would come next. Marco had seen how Ace acted when presented with gifts, a refusal on the tip of his tongue, and he didn’t want his idea to be met with the same reaction.

Ace had only grinned and followed when Marco had asked for a moment of Ace’s time, and he’d led Ace past the mechanics and out to the lower reach of the ship, towards the rudder.  

The quiet, comforting thunder of the turbines filled the air, and Marco could see Ace relax slightly; he’d spent more time in this room than he had above decks, hiding out from the Whitebeards, and Marco’d figured Ace would still associate it with reasonable safety.

Tiny curls of space dust drifted behind the ship, glittering in the air, and Marco breathed a tiny sigh of relief when everything he’d set out before he’d gone to fetch Ace was still there. Marco knew that a few of siblings would’ve - well-meaningly - tried to pack it away if they’d seen the low hanging chair and pillows spread everywhere.

Ace’s face brightened when he saw the sprawl of comfortable places to sit, and he eagerly bounded over to the swinging chair, claiming it as his own.

“Close your eyes,” Marco said once Ace had gotten comfortable, and Ace  turned to him with a confused look on his face. “It’s a surprise,” he added, before Ace could ask him _why._

Ace looked at him for a fraction of a second longer but then closed his eyes, no familiar furrow of paranoia or hesitation on his brow. It took a deep breath before the warmth in Marco’s stomach would leave at the sight, and he was silent thankful that Ace’s eyes were closed so that he couldn’t see the brief flicker of gold.

In the week that Marco had started planning this for Ace, he’d worked on using Izo’s talent for art and Thatch’s memory to recreate a tiny space of peace on the ship. Now, with a quick wave, Marco pulled up the hologram he’d designed, and the sight of the stars melded with the earth, an impossible, beautiful mix of a planet and the sky.

Ace’s brow furrowed at the quiet sound of rustling leaves, and for a moment Marco was distracted by the tiny lines that creased his face, obscuring his freckles. He smiled at the sight, then grit his teeth and pulled his cloak further over a path of creeping gold, obscuring the colour just as Ace cheated and cracked his eyes open.

He looked almost as though he expected to be reprimanded for looking, but Marco didn’t say anything, too busy biting back a grin and waiting to see what Ace thought. The brief flash of light on his eyelids must have been too much for Ace’s curiosity, and Marco watched as he opened his eyes completely, blinking against the brightness.

Ace’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and Marco couldn’t fight back his grin anymore. “Do you like it?” he asked, watching Ace’s attention snap to him.

“You- you made this?” Ace stammered, and Marco gave a slow nod.

“Everyone helped me,” he said. “I just- wanted to have something to give you, as an apology.”

Ace frowned at him, confused again, and it made something in Marco’s chest hurt that Ace had either so easily forgotten Marco ignoring him, or didn’t think Marco should’ve apologised at all.  

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” Ace said, staring at him, but Marco only shook his head.

“I let a-” he paused for a fraction of a second, worrying about how much he should keep secret and how much he should reveal, “personal problem affect my relationship with you, when you were- still settling. Still _are_ settling.”

Ace looked a bit helpless then, staring at Marco with something Marco couldn’t decipher, and then Ace’s eyes flicked away from him and Marco shifted on his feet, trying to figure out if he should leave or not. Ace’s hand rubbed at the skin of his arm, nails just barely grazing it, and Marco bit his lip, about to take a step away when Ace suddenly spoke again.  

“With- with personal problems,” Ace started, still staring at the stars and shifting uncomfortably under Marco’s gaze. “Would any- I mean, has anyone ever- have you ever kicked anyone off the crew?”

“Not for something as petty as a personal problem, no.”

“What if it’s not. Petty, I mean. What if you-” Ace stopped again, and Marco could see him swallow, his grip tightening and muscles tensing. His voice dropped like he was sharing a dark secret, and Marco leaned forwards to better catch the words. “What happens if you ever hurt someone else?”

Marco’s skin itched with the desire to move forwards and wrap Ace in his arms, pillows and all, but he held back the urge, talons dragging tiny scars into the wood below. “We have one rule that is unbreakable, Ace. And you care too much to ever, ever break it.”

“But what if-!” Ace said, whirling on him with panic in his eyes and fire flickering along the edges of his eyes in a captivating way that reminded Marco too much, too painfully, of tears.

“Ace.” Marco said gently, and was surprised when Ace’s mouth snapped shut with a click. “Ace,” he said again, couldn’t figure out how to continue, stepped forwards instead and cupped Ace’s face between his palms. “If- whatever you’ve done, whatever you think you _may_ do- you are allowed to take as long as you need to figure out what to do. And if you never tell us-” Marco shrugged, felt a grin flicker onto his face, and He grinned, and maybe it looked a bit too sharp because his words hit to painfully close to home but Marco’d just realised _why_ gold was on his skin. “I promise you, we’ll all love you either way.”

Ace’s lower lip started to shake before he pressed his lips together, and Marco’s chest jumped at the sight. Hurriedly he stepped away, letting his hands fall to the side and obscuring the gold he could see creeping up his fingertips from where he’d been touching Ace.

There was a silence for a moment, quiet and slow, but Marco let it rest and tried to catch his breath in the space between their flurry of words. Then, Ace said softly, “Thanks, Marco. For-”

He paused, and Marco grinned, letting himself steal one last touch, ruffling Ace’s hair before he stepped away.

“That’s alright,” he said, and made his way to the door. “Anything to help you.”

_Anything._


	4. brothers

Whenever he needed to get away from the raucous noise of the Whitebeard crew, Ace had taken to camping out in the little room that Marco had shown him - given him?

It made him much easier to find, and some of the more busy crew members finally found time  to interact with him now that they didn’t have to hunt him down whenever they wanted to hold a conversation. Take, for instance, Izo. Since their first interaction Ace hadn’t seen much of Izo bar when he’d be hanging around Thatch, but now that the small room was no longer apparently ‘out of bounds’ Izo had started to spend more time relaxing with Ace. They barely talked, but Ace found himself still content with the company, practicing an old, rarely used skill with pencil and paper.

Izo had eventually caught him stealing spare scraps from the ship and had fixed him a proper artbook despite Ace’s protests, and so he’d started using it whenever Izo came by. There were now sketches of Luffy, taken from his bounty poster (when Ace had first seen it he’d yelled in pride and had raced through the ship, eagerly telling everyone about his brother’s exploits - even Whitebeard.)

Luffy took pride of place, obviously, but in Ace’s sketchbook still resided sketches of anything that would hold still for long enough - Izo, Stefan, the holographic trees Marco had designed based off plants from his and Izo’s homeworlds, and Marco himself.

Well, Marco when occupied with paperwork. Ace couldn’t bring himself to ask Marco to sit for him properly, or let Ace see his wings again, so he’d taken to sketching from memory.

About a month after things had finally started to calm, the Whitebeards ran into another set of Ace’s old acquaintances.

Though, acquaintances was hardly a fair way to describe Luffy.

They’d been docked at Taricu, a planet resting on the edge of what Oyaj- _Whitebeard_ and the rest of the crew called the Paradise system, stocking up before they headed out past the quasers and into the parts of space unexplored and uncreated. Ace had been trying to hide his excitement for days but judging by Thatch’s teasing grin and Marco’s smile he’d been largely unsuccessful.

His own excitement, however, had nothing on how loud Luffy could be when he was excited. He’d heard the familiar yell of “ _cool!!!”_ echo above the sounds of the city, and for a second he’d been distracted, lagging behind Thatch and Marco. They’d decided to take him out and teach him what they usually needed to buy for long trips like this.

“Ace?” he heard Marco ask from behind him, and Ace made a noncommittal noise, attention still behind him even as he took a step forwards.

Suddenly, Luffy burst through the crowd, a red cloak flapping behind him like a set of bird wings. His loud laughter made Ace stop immediately, and then, through ridiculous chance, Luffy looked in his direction and met Ace’s eyes. He jolted to a stop, and then grinned. “Ace!” he called, and Ace felt an answering grin grow on his face.

“Hey you idiot!” he called back, and was about to move to Luffy’s side when a girl with hair that sparked with lightning came through the crowd behind Luffy.

“ _Run!_ ” he heard a lady yell almost angrily, grabbing onto Luffy’s forearm and making him look at her in confusion, and then a billowing mess of smoke began to fill the courtyard and the street. Ace jolted into action, flickering into fire automatically and forcing the smoke to stop. He landed on the rooftop of a nearby building, form solidifying with ease, but the man across still stayed half-smoke.

It was still easy to pick out the marine insignia on his coat, however. “You’re a Whitebeard brat,” the man growled around a cigarette.

“Oh come on!” Ace said, folding his arms and staring down the twinning mess of smoke and man. “I haven’t joined them yet.”

The marine scoffed. “Well then I have full authority to bring you in! You may not be a Whitebeard but you are a pirate!”

“Technically I’m only a poor victim of kidnapping,” Ace said, settling into a fighting stance and grinning at the thought of a battle. His heart was thundering in his chest like it hadn’t for months, and adrenaline sparked in his blood like he’d turned to fire again.

“I’m insulted,” he heard Marco murmur, just before he felt the cold flicker of  Marco’s wings brush barely on his back while Marco landed. Thatch came soon after, a sword drawn but resting idly by his side,, and Ace felt his mouth curl into a frown. With the both of them by his side, he’d never have the chance to battle the marine.

Said marine hadn’t shifted from his battle stance, however, and Ace refused to move from his either. He knew the extent of damage that a moment of stupidity could cause, and he _never_ ran from a battle anyway.  

“Smoker!” someone called from the street below, and Smoker’s attention wavered for a minute, then he growled, almost biting his cigarette in half.

“I have more important things to worry about right now. But raise hell in this town and I’ll hunt you to the edge of the stars!”

Ace grinned and couldn’t help but flick his fingers, a spark jumping to light the tip of Smoker’s cigarette. Maybe it was stupid to waste a second of fire - a minute of his life - but since he’d been travelling with the Whitebeards it had gotten easier to relax into the habits he’d built as a child, before he started destabilising.     

Smoker looked even more foul, if such a thing were possible, but didn’t spit the cigarette out, flowing over the side of the building. Ace relaxed marginally when he left, then turned to look at Marco and Thatch.

“Did either of you see where Luffy went?” he asked, wanting to both assure himself that Luffy was alright and see if they could catch up for at least an hour.

Thatch only shrugged however, but Marco indicated with his head to the sky. “We can look out for him from above, if you want.”  

Ace nodded with a thankful grin, missing the look that Thatch shot Marco. “Thanks,” he said, then tried to figure out how the hell this was meant to work. Unlike when Marco had first carried him, there was no panic to shove the awkwardness from his head, and Taricu had a heavier gravity that would be hard for Marco’s wings to negate. “Um- how about I run along the rooftops, and you tell me if you see anyone wearing a strawhat?” he proposed, and for a fraction of a second almost convinced himself that he saw disappointment in Marco’s eyes.  

But that was even more stupid a thought than his _own_ disappointment, and so Ace shoved both thoughts to the back of his head, watching as Marco shifted and his wings flared to life again. They looked washed-out against the pale yellow sky, but fascination still held Ace in its clutches when Marco took to the sky.

He was about to move when Thatch’s elbow met his side. “What?” he asked, staring at Thatch’s ridiculously wide grin.

“Ohhhh, nothing.” Thatch said, shrugging in a way that meant there obviously _was_ something, and Ace watched him with no small amount of confusion growing in his chest. “Just wondering if it’d be only Marco who got the special doe-eyes, or if I had a pair of wings I’d get them too.”

Ace blinked at him, feeling his frown deepen. “What?” he asked, now completely and utterly confused, but Thatch only waved his hand, brushing off Ace’s bewildered question.

“Don’t worry about it, firefly,” he said, patting Ace on the shoulder and then moving to the edge of the building, toes poised on the edge. “Just wondering.”

Then, Thatch jumped across the gap, and Ace heaved a sigh, adding _that_ conversation to the steadily growing pile of things he didn’t think he’d ever understand. Muscles tensing, he jogged towards the gap before leaping across to the next building.

A second of suspension almost fooled him into thinking he’d get close to flight, but then he hit the ground again and let his gaze find Marco in the sky again.

* * *

They actually didn’t have much trouble finding Luffy - what they did have trouble with was the marine hell-bent on chasing him out of Taricu. When the marine saw that Luffy’s ship (apparently called the _Going Merry_ ) was docked near the _Moby Dick,_ however, he’d concided and camped out on the dock outside. It put a damper on the ease with which they’d been collecting supplies, but it also meant Ace got to spend more time with Luffy.

Luffy had quite quickly taken to the ship, and was running around Ace to try and explore everything he could without letting Ace from his sight. His current objects of interest were Thatch, who smelt like food, and Marco, who had wings.

“Are these some of your crewmates?” Luffy asked excitedly, “I thought you said you were sailing under your own flag? Why don’t they call you captain?”

Thatch let out something that sounded like a snort of laughter, but Ace wasn’t paying attention, still stuck on Luffy’s first question. When he looked at Marco and Thatch, he caught Marco’s golden eyes scrutinising him.

Marco raised his eyebrow in a silent question, almost daring Ace to answer, but Ace found he couldn’t.His first instinct had been habitual; to yell an immediate, defensive, declaration of his hatred, only-

Only, he’d found that he quite simply _didn’t know_ anymore. He used to know, with absolute certainty, but lately he’d been trying to shove the thought from his mind, unwilling to piece it altogether and figure out what he wanted.

He ignored Luffy’s question, turning his attention to Luffy’s crew , who were standing bunched together on the _Moby Dick’s_ deck, and gave them a low bow. “Thanks for taking care of him,” he said, tilting his hat in respect. “I know he’s a handful to look after, and little brothers will always make their older brothers worry. It’s good for me to know that you’re all caring for him.”

He grinned at their stunned looks, and cast a look over his shoulder, biting back laughter when he saw that Marco and Thatch had the same looks upon their faces. Indicating backwards, Ace gestured to both of them in turn. “These are members of Whitebeard’s crew. First division commander, Marco the Phoenix, and fourth division commander, Thatch.”  

“What, no epithet for me?” Thatch said jokingly, but stepped forwards anyway and held out his hand to shake. The green-haired swordsman was the first to move forwards and take Thatch’s hand. His eyes were entirely caught on the sword at Thatch’s waist, however.  

“We should spar sometime,” he said, and Ace couldn’t deny his curiosity at the prospect. He didn’t actually remember ever seeing Thatch fight, and he wanted to know the skill of the people that protected Luffy - a definite win/win in his book.

The redhead stepped forwards next, elbowing the swordsman in the side and holding her own hand out forcefully. “That’s Zoro’s way of saying he wants to be friends,” she said, giving Thatch’s hand a firm shake. Ace wondered if she was trying to intimidate Thatch with the tight grip. “My name is Nami. These are my nakama, Chopper, Usopp, Robin, Sanji, Brook, and Franky.”

All of Luffy’s crew gave various greetings, and Ace had to hold back a whistle of appreciation when he saw that Brook was apparently a fucking _skeleton._ He couldn’t help the breathless gasp of amazement, nor the stars in his eyes when Franky flexed and revealed the glint of metal woven into his flesh.

Alright, now he was just the tiniest bit jealous of Luffy’s crew. Who wouldn’t want a cyborg, or a skeleton?

Well, it wasn’t like Whitebeard’s crew didn’t have some oddities of their own; Izo and Marco alone would have Luffy gasping in wonder, and Ace couldn’t wait to introduce Luffy to Stefan. That was going to be _hilarious._

“Nico Robin?” he suddenly heard Marco ask, and Ace cocked his head at the tinge of suspicion in Marco’s tone. “Rumours have it you are the…” Marco paused, almost as though looking for a tactical way to phrase his accusation, “last of Ohara.”

Something flashed in Robin’s eyes, the barest hint of defensive hurt, and Ace watched as the rest of Luffy’s crew shuffled slightly closer to her, ready to defend their own. The act made affection surge in his chest, glad his brother had found such people for his crew.

“Rumours are usually greatly exaggerated,” Robin said, her tone completely even, “but I am the last of Ohara, yes.”

“My condolences,” Marco said at last, softly, and Ace cast another look at him, trying to read Marco’s expression and noting with no small amount of surprise that Marco had pulled his cloak tight over his shoulders. Then again, even if they’d sorted it out between them, with what Thatch had told him weeks ago, about Marco and his hatred of being so exposed, maybe Ace could understand why.

“How ironic to meet like this, though, Mr Phoenix. The first and the last of two species never meant to transverse space.”

“I had found no better calling,” Marco said, but Ace had watched him stiffen, and could see the barest flicker where Marco’s skin had shifted subtle shades. “Besides, never seems like to long a word, don’t you think?”

“Would forbidden be more appropriate?” Robin shot back, but her tone was still perfectly civil, tongue still silver. Thatch’s hand landed on Marco’s arm, and now Ace _knew_ he was missing something here. He didn’t want to ask, though, partially to hide his own ignorance, and partially because drawing attention to himself would leave Marco clamming up and refusing to speak at all.

“No more forbidden than underage drinking,” Thatch said, trying to make a joke of the tense static that crackled between Marco and Robin, but neither of them broke their gazes until Luffy came bounding back into the conversation, skipping to Robin’s side and wrapping her in a rubbery hug.

She patted him gently, but Ace couldn’t help but notice that she still kept a wary eye on Marco.

“What’re you doing here, Ace?” Luffy asked, peering at him with curiosity in his big brown eyes, and Ace had to take a second to recollect himself, snapping his attention from the memory of the almost-fight that’d taken place.

“Whitebeard crew’s restocking, and some of ‘em are getting shore leave. I figured I’d go explore, and these two ended up tagging along with me.” Ace said, throwing his thumb at Thatch and Marco. “What’re you doing here? Last I heard you were still chugging along in the Mircros system!”  

Luffy laughed, grin still as wide as it’d been when he was a child, and it was stupid that the sight now made Ace’s chest ache fiercely in pride. “That was ages ago! We just left uh-”

“Qwata,” Nami supplied, with the kind of long suffering sigh that showed Ace she’d been supplying that name for a long time.

“Alabasta!” Luffy chirped. “I was helping out one of my nakama, Vivi, who’s still my nakama even if she’s not here by the way Ace, so you should _definitely_ go meet her, she has a _castle_ and ohmystars the food!”

That sent Luffy into a spiral about food, and Ace listened with rapt attention because holy stars the food he was describing sounded _amazing._

“Captain,” Zoro said in the background, and Luffy stopped his tangent about this type of bread stuffed with cheeses and meat to look at Zoro, blinking. “What about telling him about Croc, huh?”

“The Shichibukai?” Ace asked, frowning at Luffy. Luffy grinned widely, the tiniest bit of pride making him puff out his chest.

“I kicked Crocodile’s butt!” he declared, and Ace’s head was half a muffled ‘asdfgh’ and a shout of unrestrained pride in Luffy’s achievement. Marco and Thatch didn’t look much better, staring at Luffy with unrestrained shock, and Ace let the pride win out instead of the urge to grab Luffy by the shoulders and shout at him for being a rubber-headed idiot.

“Then we freed up Vivi’s dad, who actually turned out to be the king, but I think we knew that already?” Luffy cast a glance at Nami, who nodded, and he cheerfully launched back into his retelling. “Anyway, then we had a party and they gave us all this _awesome_ food and actually, Sanji could probably make some right? You were talking with squishy head and his wife before, right?”

“You’d have to lock me in the kitchen before I tried to feed two of you by myself,” he grumbled around a cigarette, but Luffy clapped his hands excitedly and Ace took that to mean Luffy was getting his way.

Stars above, Luffy had his crew tied around his little finger.

“Anyway, we’re just letting Franky check out our ship for a bit before we go to Water 7 ‘cause Vivi’s friend said we should get our ship checked out, which I think is dumb ‘cause Franky’s already checked it out but we need to go there anyway ‘cause Franky wants to see a friend of his there.” Luffy leaned in close, and whispered in a ridiculously obvious way, “Oh, and then Franky’s gonna come sailing with us and join my crew.”

“I ain’t agreed to that yet, Strawhat,” Franky said, but Ace figured it was more of a rote protest by this point. “Though I do admit your crew is pretty _super!_ ”

Why did this sound like Ace’s past few months aboard Whitebeard’s ship?

Well, missing the shout of ‘super!’ and the clash of metal as Franky posed with his arms over his head, but most certainly not that token defence. Everyone kept dropping hints about Ace joining the crew, no matter what Ace said to the contrary, and his protests had been dropping vehemence for _months._  

“I’ll go show you the engine room,” Ace blurted, latching onto Luffy’s arm and tugging him towards the stairs, and Luffy looked at him with no small amount of surprise before adjusting and allowing himself to be pulled along. Ace was silently thankful for a moment that most of the time Luffy quite usually was pleased to go along with whatever he had planned. In a few seconds when everyone else still stared at the place where he’d been in stunned silence, he’d dragged Luffy through the door and down past the engines.

Luffy made an _ooo_ of delight, but Ace didn’t stop, instead dragging him through to the room Marco had built-

And then cursed himself for the instinctive reaction. It would make him easy to find, even if he’d come to associate this ‘room’ with safety.

“Ace?” Luffy asked when Ace ran a hand through his hair with a grumble. He tried to muster a grin, but the stubborn set to Luffy’s posture and his frown made Ace quickly drop the idea.

“Yeah, Luffy?” he said, trying to figure out if there was any way he could get out of this, could hold off on having this conversation, but Luffy was having none of it.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” he said, lips pursing just a little, and Ace was startled by the flash of protectiveness on Luffy’s face. “You never answered when I asked if they were your crew, and then you said they were _Whitebeard_ crew but you never said _you_ were Whitebeard crew.”

Ace half-wanted to take back his earlier thought about Luffy going along with the flow. He’d obviously taken Ace’s silence as an answer for something Ace hadn’t realised was being asked. “I-” he said, “well, no, they’re not my crew. I was sailing with my crew, and we got attacked by space raiders and the ship blew up and these guys-”

 _Tried to save me?_ He thought to himself, but that thought made him want to growl again so he scrubbed at the side of his head and tried to continue.  “They keep asking me to join them,” he said, and tried to shrug languidly, like it was no big deal, but Luffy had a habit of being annoyingly perceptive at the worst of times and apparently now was one of those times.

“Do you _wanna_ join ‘em?” Luffy asked him, staring at him with eyes that refused to let him leave without an answer-

But he’d already gotten one. Ace had felt himself nodding before he’d even thought about it, and then jolted into movement when Luffy’s face broke out into a grin.

“But _Luffy-_ ” he said, feeling his hands shake by his side as he gestured wildly, “I’m _me!_ It doesn’t matter if _I_ want to join them, because what if I hurt them? What if they figure out who-”

Luffy made a quiet humming noise in the back of his throat, and then Ace felt rubbery limbs wrap around his shoulders and his waist, pulling him close. “That’s stupid,” he said, and Ace gave an angry snort, a reply on the tip of his tongue that Luffy barrelled over. “You can’t be afraid of getting them hurt, ‘cause loving someone _always_ hurts! You have accidents, and you can mess things up, and you hurt people by accident really really _easy._ ”

“You’re not helping,” Ace mumbled, burying his face in the junction of Luffy’s shoulder and his neck.

“But Ace,” Luffy said, like he hadn’t spoken, “you can also protect them so much better if you love them. ‘Cause you care and you do your best, and they’ll love you for trying, and they’ll love you for being _you_ , yeah?”

Ace found himself silent, the words settling against him like a blanket, pressing themselves on his skin, and he swallowed thickly.

“I’m going to tell them,” he whispered, and Luffy gave a nod and Ace could feel the happy hum that reverberated in Luffy’s throat, even as anxiety tightened around his.

* * *

 They set sail from Taricu a few days later, Luffy tagging along as Ace’s safety net, a just-in-case that Luffy was sure he didn’t need, and Ace didn’t want to admit he didn’t want.

If-

If it were the Whitebeards he lost his life to, he didn’t think he’d mind. This time, this chance-

It was a gamble that Ace now refused to halt, and he was putting his life on the line with how the coin fell, but he could feel nothing but certainty now that the last of his doubts and fears had vanished with Luffy’s declaration. He wanted this.

He’d gotten Whitebeard to call a meeting with the commanders, citing ‘something important’ so that he couldn’t back out, and he’d heard them file in but hadn’t taken his eyes off the engravings on Whitebeard’s chair, tracing them with his eyes and wondering if they’d be the last piece of art he ever saw.

When finally the last of the shifting settled, he pulled his gaze from the chair, teeth set.

“I want to join your crew.” Ace said, and when he met Whitebeard’s gaze, the only thing he wanted was for Whitebeard to grin back and say ‘of course!’ There was something so _confident_ that suddenly rested in his chest as he spoke those words, only-

“But I have to tell you something, first.”

 _I have to,_ he pleaded with himself, already feeling something heavy growing in the middle of his throat, and when he’d been practicing in his head it’d been so easy, only now-

“I-,” he started off, watching the unchanging expression of the commanders, and Whitebeard’s subtle motion for him to continue. He could feel his voice shake and paranoia slowly work up the line of his spine, digging in sharp claws. “I’m not- who you think I am. I'm-”

He couldn't finish the sentence, throat closing up. It would be two words, two simple, simple words only he-

He wasn’t brave enough to say them.

 _I'm Roger's son_ , he tried to say, but what came out instead was-

"I'm molecularly unstable. I’ve been destabilising since I was ten, and it’s not going to get better. One day I’m going to explode and I-” he stopped, biting his tongue, and tried to figure out how to articulate the mess in his head; the parts screaming at him for keeping his heritage a secret, and the fear that they’d still want to kick him out, just for not telling them he could _explode._ “I don’t want to take you all with me. I can’t let you get hurt. You’re-” he stopped, throat tight. Could he even finish that sentence? Could he even _say_ that they were his family anymore, now that he’d told them about his lie?

“Why are you so sure that you’re-?” Thatch started to ask, and Ace took a steadying breath before tugging off the beads around his neck. It felt like baring too much, like stripping off a second layer of skin, armour, only, he _had to._ He didn’t want any secrets between them anymore.

He wanted to be a part of their family, and the other half of his family already knew about his destabilisation. It was time the Whitebeards knew the extent of it, too.

The hologram flickered off, and Ace could hear a series of sharp gasps, but refused to close his eyes, gritting his teeth and watching as Haruta covered their mouth with their hand; how Izo’s eyes widened and his form wavered; how Thatch half-stood from his chair, gripping the table with whiteknuckled hands.

How Marco’s skin flared the brightest orange he’d ever seen, before he pulled his cloak over the colour.

Ace’s heart clenched tightly, and he could feel his fingernails bite into his palm. Part of his grip was useless, however; his fingers sunk into a section that was only half-solid, and Ace almost let loose a bark of laughter. Why was it that his skin felt like mush, when it was really his heart that was starting to collapse in on itself?

“I know I’m unstable, Thatch, because of this.”

“Oh, Ace-” he heard Izo say, the words obviously having escaped before Izo had realised, and Ace tried to force his tense shoulders to relax, knowing he would fail but trying all the same.

“How did you- how haven’t you-?” Haruta said, rising from their spot at the table, as though trying to peer closer to the marks on Ace’s skin, “By all accounts, if you’d had your catalyst at ten, shouldn’t you have-?”

 _I don’t know how,_ he thought, shaking his head uselessly, and he was about to say so when Marco snapped out,

“However it happened, I can fix it.”

Everyone stared at him, and for the first time since Ace’d come into the room, Marco cracked a grin.

“Did you all forget about the energy manipulator in the room?” Marco said, and his tone was forcibly light, but Ace could only thank him for it, until Marco’s gaze turned to him and Ace felt pinned. “How you stayed stable for so long- I think you’re subconsciously taking energy from around you. And if you’re doing that- well it means that this is reversible, considering what- considering everything I’ve seen you do. Everything I know about you.”

This time, Marco’s smile was more honest. Earnest. “I’ll help you fix it. I promise, Ace.”

And, though he knew it was stupid, Ace couldn’t help but believe him.

“Ace,” Whitebeard said, voice rumbling in the space, and Ace snapped his attention from Marco, his earlier fears returning in full force. Even if Thatch and the others hadn’t yelled, or made a big deal about the potential supernova he could turn into, Whitebeard was captain. He had to put the safety of the rest of the crew above Ace’s own desires, and Ace couldn’t be trusted to not explode - even with Marco’s promise of help.   

“You don’t have to let me on the crew,” Ace blurted, before Whitebeard could finish. “I would be proud to be your son, Whitebeard, but I know that it’s dangerous, so if you want to just be allies-”

Whitebeard began to laugh, and Ace cut off, startled.

“Brat, when I asked you to be my son, I meant it!” he winked at Ace, his grin wide. “Threat of an explosion should keep these boys on their toes, don’t you think?”

“I- I- but-,” Ace stammered, feeling his face flush and his eyes sting, flecks of fire flickering to life beneath his freckles. “I’m-”  

Whitebeard’s expression turned serious, and he reached forwards, cupping the side of Ace’s body in one huge, warm hand. “My son, you are no threat to us. I trust you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and Ace almost doubled over, hand dwarfed as he gripped at Whitebeard’s palm. He felt breathless, felt shock race through him like licks of flame, couldn’t help but hear the echo of Whitebeard’s words in his head.

_My son, I trust you._

His breath hitched, almost hiccuping, and he scrubbed roughly at his cheeks, trying to get rid of the itch in the back of his throat as he swallowed desperately. “I- I’ll- I promise, I’ll do you proud, Pops!”

The grin that spread across his face was nothing short of absolutely ecstatic, and from the corner of his eye he caught the rest of the commanders grinning as well. Then, he was swept up into a bone crushing hug.

He wasn’t sure if the noise that escaped him was laughter or hiccuping sobs, but as he felt Thatch hit his back and help Whitebeard wrap him in an embrace, he decided he didn’t care.

* * *

 

It’d taken almost half-an-hour before Ace was finally released from the commanders smothering him in hugs with Oyaji’s help, and by that point the news had apparently spread across the whole ship, and Ace found everyone else smothering him in affection. His palm was starting to sting from the constant high-fives, and he’d long since given up trying to neaten his hair, as everyone kept ruffling it.

When Marco found him again after a few hours, Ace had started to grow just the tiniest bit sick of all the attention. He’d eagerly jumped at the chance to follow Marco after Marco had beckoned him onto the foredeck, and with Ace out of sight most of the crew seemed to calm and finally decide to head to bed, or to their watch shift.

“Thatch is planning you a party.” Marco said when they were alone, in an almost subtle warning, “Well, actually, he’s been planning it for a while, but now he has the excuse to actually give you a party, and I doubt he’ll give it up, yoi.”

Ace laughed, already imagining the food and the laughter and- the feeling of _home._ “I don’t think I’m that upset by it, Marco.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be. But before then-” Marco pushed his cloak over his shoulder, reaching for Ace’s hands. They were harder than Ace expected, with strangely placed callouses that caught against Ace’s skin. “There’s something we have to do first.”

Oh Stars above, it was so stupid that his heart started to beat faster, but Ace couldn’t stop himself from giving a tiny nod of acquisition, swallowing thickly. “Yeah?” he croaked, then cursed his voice for the betrayal.

“I figure the sooner I start teaching you, the sooner you’ll be able to gain more stability.”

Ace blinked at him, brain still stuck somewhere with the thought of _Marco’s going to confess to me,_ (and he wasn’t sure _why_ he thought that was the case, other than this weird subconscious thought that he was projecting, but then he had to ask himself _projecting what?_ and he didn’t want to answer that question.) “I- teaching? Teaching what?”

“How to take energy from latent radiation,” Marco explained patiently, but there was a frown to his stare that Ace knew meant Marco hadn’t missed Ace’s earlier distraction. “From what I know about Ro-”

Marco stopped in the middle of his sentence, skin suddenly flaring a to-bright colour, and Ace narrowed his eyes, suspicious and confused. He could see Marco reach for the cloak, then stop, remembering his promise.

“About who?” Ace asked, half-daring Marco to lie to him, because he’d _know._

Marco hesitated a second too long, eyes just a fraction to wide to be anything but frantic thought, and Ace felt something tight around his throat because he could almost _see_ Marco considering the effect of a lie and he hated himself for how much it hurt.

But, then again - he’d just spilled one of his secrets, and now here was Marco, refusing to let Ace know what was on his mind. “You know what,” he said, throat hurting and eyes stinging, “I don’t care.”

He pulled his hands from Marco’s roughly, that same catch pulling at his skin and bringing to life tiny flickers of fire, but Ace didn’t notice as he turned on his heel and stomped off.

“Ace, wait!” Marco called after him, but Ace kept his head down and made a bee-line for the stairs that would lead below deck. “Ace, please!”

“ _Why?_ ” he shouted back as he walked, fists clenched, “So you can lie to me again?”

“I have never lied to you!” Marco shouted back, and Ace couldn’t help but turn just slightly, catching only blue at the corner of his vision. The second when he hesitated allowed Marco to grab onto his arm, jolting him to a stop. “Look, Ace I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. But I have _never_ lied to you.”

“You wanted to,” he muttered under his breath angrily, and Marco made a helpless noise.

“Because I was worried you’d react like this!”

“Why did you even consider it?” Ace shot back, feeling a hot flush curl in his stomach. “I thought- don’t you trust me?”

“It wasn’t a question of _trust,_ ” Marco said, and his grip on Ace’s arm loosened. “Look, you have full rights to be angry with me, and you can storm away and _be_ angry. But please, Ace, just let me help you first. So you don’t have to be afraid of your powers.”

“I’m not afraid,” Ace spat, and Marco put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Please?” he asked quietly, and though he gritted his teeth Ace crossed his arms and got out,

“Fine.”

The smile of relief on Marco’s face made some of Ace’s anger abate before he realised, and once he did he growled again and crossed his arms even tighter.

“Have you got anything special to you?” Marco asked, “Like a memento from Luffy or-”

Ace clicked his tongue quietly as he thought, but then his eyes landed on the red-and-white bracelet around his wrist. “First thing I stole as a pirate captain,” he said, holding it out, and Marco gave a slow nod.

“I- I’m not sure how this works. I- left my planet when I was young, and I never-” Marco said, reaching out and cautiously taking Ace’s wrist in his hands, like he was afraid Ace would hit him for it. “But, from what I recall learning, it’s- it’s a matter of finding out where your energy comes from, and where you store it. Is it in your fingertips, or your hands, or in your heart? Does it rest on your shoulders, or in your head?”

“ _What._ ”

Marco stopped, lips pursed, and looked as though he was trying to figure out another way to explain it. “When you use your powers, where does it start from?”  

Ace frowned at him again, slowly getting more fed up with the question - but, really. It was more so a matter of who was asking the question rather than what was being asked. He was still mad at Marco for earlier, and it wasn’t helping his concentration. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to ask the question for himself..

When he used his powers, where did it come from?

 _Hands,_ he immediately thought, remembering how easy it was to conjure flames to shroud his fists when he was a kid, and he nodded to himself. “Hands,” he said to Marco as he opened his eyes. “My fire comes from my hands.”

Marco looked surprised for a minute at how quickly Ace had found the answer, but then nodded. “Alright,” he said, “hands. If all your power is in your hands, then you could move it from your hands, right?”

“Uh- alright...?” Ace said, biting his bottom lip. “But where?”

“Into the bracelet. Pretend the bracelet is a part of you, and that it can hold part of your energy. Well, in your case your fire. It should hopefully mean that your body will stabilise a little, because you know what you’re doing with it now. And you have that saved up, and you won’t be able to use it, so you’ll still have a part of you left, right?”

Ace nodded again, making a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and then slipped his bracelet off, cradling it in his palms. Even though he’d gotten more used to his powers, and had stopped hiding them or fighting them, it still felt weird to draw on them on purpose.

Sparks crackled between his palms, but the sensation, though familiar didn’t feel-

 _Right._ He didn’t know what was meant to be ‘right’, but still frowned in concentration, trying to recapture the sense of certainty when he’d announced that his energy came from his hands, and then-

 _There!_ he thought, the smallest flicker of gold on the edge of the red, and with a sudden flurry, like a snapping wildfire, his fire changed colours.

He cried out in elation at the sight of the gold that curled around his palms, almost like a starstorm held captive between his fingertips, and then it drained away into his bracelet. The bracelet felt warmer now, comforting heat rolling through his fingers, and Ace slipped it back on again, turning his grin to Marco’s face.

Marco looked a bit stunned, and the momentary confusion over Marco’s expression got Ace remembering that he was still meant to be angry. He scowled, trying to fight back the giddy excitement in his chest, and turned on his heel.

“Goodnight.” He said stiffly, and missed Marco’s expression falling into one of regret and despair.

If he’d stayed for a second longer he would’ve heard Marco’s curse of _stupid!,_ and seen Marco kick the banister and then swear at the pain. The sight would’ve made him laugh, easily amused by the brief absence of forethought, but-

Ace had already left.   

* * *

 It took Ace a week to finally push Marco’s slip-of-the-tongue from his head, and consent to having lessons with him again even with all of Marco’s apologies. In that time he got roped into being Thatch’s party planner. Half the reason he even forgave Marco was because being Thatch’s assistant was _worse_ than trying to figure out his powers.

But he was regretting it now.

Ace groaned loudly, flopping backwards and landing on the deck, staring at the sails. “Stars, Marco, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get this.”

“It takes a lot of practice, and a lot of patience,” Marco said, and though Ace knew he was trying to sound comforting it still chafed. He _hated_ waiting.

Sitting up with a quiet grunt, Ace grabbed Marco’s hand and pulled him down, Marco almost falling against Ace’s knees before he caught himself. “C’mon bird brain. I need a break, before my brain turns to feathers.”

“I don’t appreciate that, yoi,” Marco grumbled, but settled on the ground. Ace grinned and pushed him again until Marco was lying down, and then shuffled over to rest against Marco’s stomach and stare at the stars.

“This is much more comfortable,” he remarked with a small sigh of happiness, feeling Marco’s cloak bunched under his head but doing little to cut away the heat that Marco emitted.

Marco’s stomach jolted under his head minutely, almost as though he were trying to take a breath, and then Ace felt Marco’s hand settle gently in his hair and began to carefully comb through it. He grinned, humming softly, and let his mind drift.

“That star set looks like Whitebeard’s mustache, don’t you think?” he mused, pointing at the sky, and Marco made a curious sound and moved slightly, like he was trying to tilt his head.

“I suppose,” he said, but to Ace he only sounded doubtful.

“No, c’mon!” Ace protested, grabbing Marco’s free hand and tracing the outlines of the constellation he’d made up. “See, there’s the tip and the curve, and you’ve even got the rest of his mark, like your tattoo!”

Marco hummed noncommittally, and Ace gave a quiet grumble under his breath, letting their hands fall back to the deck.

But he didn’t let go.

Marco made no move to pull his hand away, his fingers almost spasming for a second against Ace’s before he settled his grip, fingertips against Ace’s knuckles. Marco’s thumb tracing nonsensical shapes on his skin.

“Where did you want to get your tattoo?” Marco asked him after a moment of silence, and Ace heaved in a heavy breath, biting his lip.

“I was thinking-” he started, shifting against Marco’s stomach, “once I got the destabilisation under control...I was thinking maybe I’d get rid of the holoprojector altogether, and get Pop’s mark on my back. Just means I’d have to go without a shirt.”

“I’m sure no-one would complain,” Marco mumbled under his breath, and Ace had to hide a grin.

“Well it’s not like most shirts are fire proof! Your accounts won’t suffer because I’m constantly burning through clothes. Literally and figuratively.”

Marco gave a low groan, swatting him upside the head, and Ace laughed, right up until Marco said, “I’m not petting you anymore, yoi. That was awful.”

“Awww, Marco!”

“No,” Marco said sternly, but his hand hadn’t moved from Ace’s head, fingers tangled in Ace’s hair. Ace sniggered quietly under his breath, and turned his gaze back to the stars, watching the glittering specks.

“Isn’t it weird to think of how many species there are, out there?” he asked quietly. “There could be one just taking their first steps into space, and they don’t even _know_ what they’ll find, all they know is that they want to find it.”

“Someone looking up at the stars, and somehow, wondering the same thing you are,” Marco said, and Ace nodded, fascinated by the sight that stretched before him.

“It’s beautiful.” He breathed, longing and wonder filling his chest, and for a moment all he could think about was the possibility that - thanks to Marco - he had the entirety of his life to explore it.

A quiet bell ringing across the ship broke the both of them from their peaceful daze, and Marco sat up, his hand slipping from Ace’s before Ace could tighten his grip. “That’s the watch switch,” he said, head tilted to the main deck, but Ace didn’t tear his gaze away from Marco’s face, eyes tracing his cheekbones and his eyelashes and the line of his jaw.

Marco stood, holding out his hand, and Ace snapped from his daze, getting to his feet and brushing off his pants. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Ace said, heading for the stairs and ready to take night watch,

“Goodnight,” Marco said, giving him a smile as he left, but then Ace heard him call, “Ace?”

He turned, making a curious noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah?”

“That constellation you pointed out before...It looked more like your smile, to me. It was just as beautiful, at least.”

A shiver ran up Ace’s spine, and he felt his eyes open wide in shock, before he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes and check that it really was Marco standing in front of him. He stammered uselessly, trying to figure out how to reply, but Marco only grinned and vanished down the corridor in a swirl of fabric.

 _Marco thinks my smile is-_ Ace thought dazedly, making it the rest of the way down the stairs without even realising where he was putting his feet.

_Marco thinks my smile is-_

_Beautiful?_

* * *

_Oh stars_ , was Marco's first, panicked thought as he rounded the corner and Ace was lost from sight. _Oh stars, oh stars, I can't believe I just_ **_did that._ **  
  
His knees felt weak, legs trembling, and Marco sunk to the ground, leaning against the wall. His stomach was churning, heart pounding in his ears, and yet-  
  
Yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret what he'd done. That impulsive, blurted compliment had made Ace look so adorably dazed, made his freckles flicker red, had left him speechless-  
  
Marco laughed deprecatingly, grabbing the back of his cloak and pulling the cowl over his head. A quiet logistics report filled his ears, in a language he so rarely heard now, and Marco tried to concentrate on the words instead of what Ace's eyes had looked like when widened in surprise.  
  
How warm Ace's palm felt when their hands were pressed together.  
  
A glitter of gold still clung to Marco's hands like sand, shifting around his feathers, and Marco swallowed, watching the colour move. With gentle fingertips he traced the lines on his palm, watching the gold follow the paths he made.  
  
Distractedly, he pressed harder, trying to siphon away the gold like he had so many times before, but this attempt, unlike the others, was done from rote memory instead of desperation.  
  
He didn't know anymore if he _wanted_ to get rid of the colours Ace gave him.  
  
He wasn't sure, now, that Ace didn't - maybe, hopefully - like him.  
  
He didn't know what would've happened if he'd stayed on deck with Ace, watching the stars, and for the first time since gold had first shown up on his skin-  
  
Marco wanted to find out.

* * *

A day after that was Ace’s ‘welcoming’ party, but that thought was the furthest thing on Marco’s mind. He’d decided the night before that he wasn’t going to continue to stay in a limbo of smiles that made his heart pang, and lingering fingertips on his elbow that made gold curl up his arm. Even if the answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear, bravery - or stupidity - surged at the forefront of his head.

It’d taken a few hours to find Ace in the crowd though, and then a few hours more to convince himself to stop staring at the grin on Ace’s face as he flitted around and talked with everyone. By that point, however, the party had already started to wind down, and it had become easier to find a quiet space, so Marco tried to delude himself into thinking that had been his plan all along.

It hadn’t, but no one ever needed to know that but him.

He grabbed another mug of ale from the table, downing it and making liquid fire and courage run through his throat (or a lack of inhibitions to help him blurt it out, at least-) and then made his way over to Ace.

Ace grinned when he saw Marco approach, and when he was beckoned followed without Marco having to say a word.  

It was easy to find a quiet space now that most of the others had started to drift off or form small groups of distracted conversation, but Marco still hesitated before he led Ace to the back of the ship.

“What’s up?” Ace asked, when they finally stopped, and Marco shifted restlessly, leaning back against the balcony. He could feel his stomach twist, knotting tighter and tighter with every second that Ace only watched him, a question on his lips.

“I- you know that- problem. I had.” Marco said, and watched Ace nod. Marco’s fingers tangled themselves into his cloak, pulling the fabric in close to his side. “It- was because-”

He didn’t want to continue.

Swallowing back his fear he forced his hand to loosen, peeling away nanotech and fabric to reveal the soft gold that’d so fascinated Ace months before.

When Ace didn’t make a move, however, Marco stretched forwards and gently took Ace’s hand. He pulled Ace’s hand close, letting his fingertips hover above Marco’s collarbone. Under Ace’s fingers the colour on Marco's skin flushed a vibrant, glittering gold and blue that spread under his clothes. “This is what you do to me,” he admitted quietly, feeling colour prick at the crook of his arms and inside his stomach. “Ace, I-”

He stopped, and swallowed, muscles screaming with the urge to drag the nanotech over his arms again, to run and pretend that none of this had happened. That Ace would remain oblivious as to what the colour gold meant on Marco’s skin.

Ace’s shocked expression didn’t help, but he wasn’t running away, and, stupidly, Marco let himself hope. Let himself step forwards, so close his heart felt like it’d burst, hands gently grazing Ace's arms, but Ace stepped away, shaking his head.

"Marco-," he started, almost helplessly, and refused to look at Marco's face. Marco felt his stomach drop, and let his hands fall to his sides. "You- I- I'm sorry. I- I’m sorry _._ I _can’t_."

And then Ace was moving, half sprinting to get away, and Marco was left with flickering golden skin and a broken heart.

* * *

 Ace’s party had gone off with little drama, from what Thatch could tell, and he’d seen Ace eagerly talking with everyone before he and Marco had gone off somewhere. It had made him grin to see how easily Ace was settling in, and he quite cheerfully told that to Teach - his shadow for most of the night.

They’d both stopped drinking a little while ago, Thatch easily having recalled the last time he’d had too much to drink and then had the morning shift, but when he found Izo he discovered that the sentiment wasn’t shared. He almost laughed, because usually Izo was a hell of a lot more responsible, but that knowledge stopped him.

Izo was a hell of a lot more responsible - and for him to be drinking after _Thatch_ had stopped?

Well.

Thatch had pulled out a chair next to Izo before he’d even thought about it, asking as he sat, “Why’re you moping?”

“I’m not moping,” Izo said, jaw set petulantly, and Thatch made a sound he knew was more than a little sarcastic. Still capable of glaring even while drunk, Izo flicked Thatch in the face with bits of goop, and Thatch tried very firmly to forget that the goo was technically part of Izo’s skin.

“I just think it’s sad that Ace thought he couldn’t trust us with this.” Izo mumbled into his drink, lips drawn tight. “I mean, he’s _met_ the other Moleculars we have on board, surely he’d realise we’d accept him, too! Just because he’s a bit more unstable, or closer to exploding, or- or _whatever-_ ”

Thatch carefully peeled Izo’s jug away from him, peering to the bottom and noticing that even with the considerable size to it, the jug was empty.

“Izo, have you had this entire thing?” Thatch asked flatly, and Teach hid a snicker when Izo hiccupped and shook his head in a vehement no.

“Sure, goo brain,” Teach teased, giving a pointed look at the alcohol already out on the table, but grabbed another half-empty bottle none-the-less, pouring them all another round.

“I jus-” Izo said, form losing solidity and curling smaller as he lost his concentration, “I thought he liked us, you’know? Like- trusted us- but he didn’t trust us enough to tell us he’d explode! We coulda’ helped so much _earlier._ He wouldn’t be so unstable now if he’d just tol’ us-”   

“He was probably just paranoid,” Thatch said soothingly, fingers running through Izo’s hair - or rather, what remained of it as the details of Izo’s body began to meld together. “People really hate Moleculars for what Roger did when he blew up that facility. If you’d been destabilising since you were a kid, wouldn’t you as well?”

_“I’ve been destabilising since I was ten, and it’s not going to get better.”_

It wasn’t going to get better, that was what Ace had said, with such certainty that it was hard to disbelieve him, only-

Only Thatch had seen that molecular smoke-based marine, when he’d been chasing after Luffy, and seen the marine use his powers without his body deteriorating. Though they weren’t the same type of Molecular, he and Ace both shared one characteristic: they both had forms that weren’t solid.

And Smoker had shown none of the marks Ace had decorating his skin. Thatch had _seen_ moleculars when they started destabilising, and even though they looked like Ace, if Ace really had been destabilising since he was a kid, he would’ve been dead by now.

So what-

What made him so different?   

What prevented him from falling apart in a few months once his catalyst hit, like every other Molecular that had an unstable form? He didn’t use his powers frequently, sure, but that _couldn’t_ have been all of it. It just didn’t make sense!

There was Marco’s theory on Ace taking energy back from the world around him, but Thatch’s mind couldn’t help but ask _how._

How could Ace do that, when no other unstable Molecular Thatch had ever seen could do that?

He took back energy, just like Marco, but-

 _“There are more species than just_ **_me_ ** _that use energy as a power source, Thatch. Mine just happens to be the one that relies solely on it. Well- no. There’s another species, but- but the only person I ever knew that belonged to that race died almost twenty years ago. She was the one that told me she was one of the last of her kind. The others- the League got to them.”_

Twenty years ago.

Twenty years ago, around when Ace would’ve been born.

Twenty years ago, just before Roger had attacked that facility, and destroyed the experiments the League were running, unleashing a wave of unstable energy that created the moleculars.

And Roger would’ve been caught right in the middle of it. Roger, and Rouge, whom Thatch had never seen eat _anything_ , just like Marco.

His eyes widened in shock as the realisation hit him, and he jolted from his chair, almost tripping over the table.

“Izo, do you-? If- if Marco had a kid, and that kid turned out to be molecular-”

Izo squinted at him in confusion, struggling through what Thatch was saying, but then seemed to get the gist. “The kid’d probably be okay, Thatch. Marco’s all energy zappy-zappy, yeah? Besides, it’s not like he and Ace can have kids anyway.” Izo sniggered into his cup, but then his mood soured again and he seemed to droop, sighing morosely. “If they ever figure it out, that is. Maybe they can adopt. Though, I don’t really want a kid running aboard the ship- ugh.”

“That’s-” Thatch started, but then gave up, refusing to try and turn Izo from his mumblings. “Teach, you know heaps about moleculars, don’t you? What would happen if a species that survived off energy turned into an energy source?”

Teach blinked at him, obviously trying to follow along but struggling to figure it out. If only Izo wasn’t drunk - he’d play translator for Thatch’s raging thoughts. “Well- it’s- it’s a paradox. You couldn’t do it. Either they’d survive off themselves in a loop, or they’d burn themselves out.” Thatch frowned at Teach’s answer, and was about to speak, but Teach was still talking. “But if you’re talking moleculars, than anyone from a species that already took energy could theoretically survive by using it to feed, and power themselves. They’d have to be a second generation though, because anyone from the original explosion would never have figured it out in time. Their own powers and hunger would’ve destroyed them in, at most, a few months-”

Roger, who’d attacked the marine base and then given himself in less than a year later, and sparked the age of piracy and exploration.

Roger, who’d looked so terribly, terribly thin when he’d been placed upon the execution stand.

Roger, who’d _dissolved_ when the marines had run him through.

Ace was too young to have been at the original explosion, but-

But Roger had been there. Roger, with a madcap grin that looked so much like Ace’s, and-

“I gotta go.” Thatch blurted, getting up and making a quick apology as he hurried from the room. He missed Teach staring after him with wide eyes, realisation written over his face.

* * *

 

It seemed stupid that gold was such a recurring thing in his life.

Gold Roger.

His father, someone he’d sworn to hate and even now still detested for making Ace’s life so damnably _difficult,_ only-

Roger had tried. Done something that Ace had only ever contemplated, and sacrificed himself for his crew’s safety, and for the safety of his unborn son.

Gold stardust.

The only thing that’d ever let him regain some semblance of normality, the only thing that’d let him regain some solidity, some control over his fluctuating form, except for-

Marco.

Marco, with-

Gold skin.

Marco, who peeled back his cloak and shown Ace the colour he’d been hiding for ( _how long,_ he tried to question, tried to flick back the days to figure out when it’d all started, but the only answer he could come up with was _long enough._ )

And then there was Ace, who’d lied. Who was still hiding so many secrets from them, who hadn’t told them his name when they first met, who _still_ kept the name he’d been born with a secret, who hadn’t told them about his powers nor his destability (and hadn’t that come back to bite him in the ass, when Marco could’ve been helping him _fix it-_ )

Marco wore his heart on his sleeve - he was honest and brave and sharp-witted and strong and-

Ace couldn’t help but think Marco deserved so much more than a potentially deadly molecular who was going to _lie_ to him.

He’d been more than selfish enough, let himself be dragged along to their pace though he knew how dangerous it would be for all of them.

To top all of that off, too, if anyone ever found out who his father was the Whitebeards would get pulled into the mess that’d follow, charged with harbouring a traitor! That wasn’t even considering the prospect of them simply kicking Ace off their crew, either.

It was far, far better for the colour on Marco’s skin to change from vibrant gold to burnished yellow than it was to ever let that colour stay.

No matter how much Ace wanted it to.

At least then, when the gold faded, the disgust Marco would feel would only be directed at Ace.

Ace, and his messed up family tree, one that hung heavy over every other Molecular’s head, promising to eventually fall and crush them, no matter what they attempted to stop the descent. He could live with that, with the knowledge that at least Marco wouldn’t try and rip out his feelings by the roots, because they’d already have withered away.

 _It’d be fine,_ he tried to tell himself, pushing the sight of Marco’s heartbroken expression from his mind. _You’d regret it if you said yes, you know you would. It’d hurt too much, pretending to be perfect, and it’d hurt even more when Marco figured out that you_ weren’t.

 _Don’t you dare take more than what they’ve already given you,_ he ordered himself, but all he could think about was _gold, gold, gold, gold-_

And space dark, haunting blue.


	5. breathe deep

He drifted off sometime close to the middle of the night, too exhausted to stay awake for any longer, but still only barely slept, waking in panicked jolts before he could get back to sleep.

It was during one of those times that he heard a knock on the door. For a moment, he was terrified that it was Marco, but the sound was to rushed and hurried to be Marco, even if Marco were caught in a panic - which Ace had _never_ seen.

The knocking came again, but as Ace got up to open it, Thatch burst in, out of breath. Frowning, Ace took a worried step forwards, but Thatch straightened and with a heave, blurted, “You’re not just molecular, are you?”

Horror flashed through him like the burning tail of a comet, pulling him straight to wakefulness and throwing off the last clinging vestiges of sleep, and Ace stammered, “Wh-what? Thatch, what are you-”

“Well, okay, see the way I figure it yeah, if you’re molecular you have a 50-60% chance of destabilising, right? Only you never really know that until it’s usually too late. But _you-_ those _marks_ you showed us that Marco said he was going to fix- That means you _knew_ you were destabilising, which doesn’t make sense _,_ because you woulda just left as soon as you found out. And if you _didn’t,_ then you’ve been destabilising for years. You _said_ you’d been destabilising for years, and no-one listened!”

“Thatch-” Ace tried weakly, his heart pounding in his chest, but Thatch ignored him.

“But that- _that_ is impossible, unless- unless you were part of the original crew of the _Oro Jackson._ Related to someone who first set molecular elements loose.”

Thatch was staring at him with wide eyes, and Ace couldn’t look at him, letting his head drop and staring at his clenched fists.

“I wasn’t there,” he said, voice hoarse. “I wasn’t there, but- my dad- was. And it killed him, just like it’s killing me.” His hands started to shake, and Ace clenched them tighter, anger making his fire ripple to life. “His stupid quest for an _adventure_ got him and my mom killed! I didn’t even have a _name,_ because of everything  he’d done! And he- he just gave me a holo that said, _hey kid, here you go, you’re gonna die!_ ”

His voice broke, and Ace flinched, curling inwards, arms wrapping around his chest. His fire died, and he grit his teeth, refusing to cry. If he did-

He couldn’t allow his vision to be blurry, not with the possibility that Thatch would attack him as soon as he pieced all the clues together.

But, then again- there would’ve been worse ways to die than at the hands of his family. At least they might remember some of the things he’d done for them, and make his death quick and painless. Oyaji, sweeping him overboard without an oxygen mask. Izo, choking the life out of him with any one of his arms. Marco, easily draining him of the fire that kept him alive.

 _Marco,_ Ace suddenly thought, and his nails dug into his skin as he tried to push thoughts of Marco from his mind. He’d done the right thing, no matter how heartbroken Marco had looked when Ace had ran. Once Marco found out what Thatch had figured out-

Ace would be lucky if any of them even considered him ‘friend’, let alone ‘brother’, once they found out what Thatch knew. The only comfort he had was at least Marco wouldn’t hate him for another lie. He wouldn’t be disgusted with Ace, only with his own feelings, and Ace knew he could survive Marco’s kindness turning to abhorrence; he’d deserve it.

Marco would never have fallen for him if he’d know whose blood was in Ace’s veins.

Ace forced his chin up, gritting his teeth and staring Thatch down. He couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t stop fighting, not when he’d promised Luffy he would live.

“Ace-” Thatch started, and a chill calm settled over Ace’s body, as though his emotions had been pushed to the back of his head and locked away.

“Gol D. Roger was my father, Thatch. That’s why I’m not-,” he couldn’t help but hesitate for half a second before he could shove his emotions away again, “ _normal_.”

Thatch opened his mouth to reply, and Ace braced himself to fight, but instead of words a loud explosion rung in his ears.

They were sent off balance, staggering to the side, and for a second, Ace thought that Thatch had gathered the rest of the Whitebeards before confronting him, already planning his capture. Then, he realised that the explosion had come from outside the ship.

Another loud explosion rocked the ship, and Ace was sent sprawling. Concern flashed across Thatch’s face, and he quickly stepped forwards, hand outstretched.

“Are you oka-?”

“Stay away from me!” Ace yelled, scrambling backwards, “If you’re going to attack me, have some honour and let me get up first.”

“What? Ace, I’m not going to attack you!” Thatch said, but Ace only looked at him disbelievingly, and Thatch grit his teeth. “I don’t _care_ who your father is!” he snapped, “I care about _you,_ and you are going to get hurt! I refuse to see that happen, because you’re my _brother, Ace!_ ”

Ace blinked at him, eyes wide, and Thatch, panting, offered him a grin. “You’re part of Whitebeard's’ family, Ace. You can’t get out of that just ‘cause the King of the Stars was your dad.”

“You really- you really don’t care?” Ace asked, unable to deny his muscles shaking.

“I swear to you, Ace. The only father I recognise as yours is mine, too.”

Thatch’s hand stretched towards him, and Ace swallowed, eyes darting from Thatch’s open palm to his face. Painful indecision froze him, but he slowly reached out, and when Thatch’s hand closed around his own there was no sudden shock of panic as his hand tightened.

And then Thatch gasped, and it did.

Ace yanked his hand away, staring at Thatch with wide eyes, but Thatch wasn’t paying attention to him. His free hand had drifted to his stomach, and his horrified eyes were drawn down to the same spot.

Ace followed his gaze, a furrow of confusion creasing his brow as he stared at a dark spot slowly growing on Thatch’s side.

Something dripped behind Thatch’s leg, and he slumped forwards on unsteady legs. Ace only just barely caught him before he hit the ground, grunting under the weight of Thatch’s body. One of his hands had landed in the wet patch on Thatch’s back, and Ace, with slowly dawning horror, pulled it to his face.

His whole palm was stained red.

“ _Thatch!_ ” he cried, adrenaline spiking in his blood, and his hands scrambled to tighten Thatch’s shirt and prevent the blood from flowing too quickly from Thatch’s wound. “Please, please- _Thatch-_ ”

“Oh dear,” a voice remarked from the door, and Ace froze. “And here I was, hoping that no-one would get their hands dirty.”

Teach stood in the doorframe, and knife held loosely in one hand.

“Teach?” Ace said weakly, his legs shaking, and eyes drawn to the knife in Teach’s hand.

A droplet of blood – _Thatch’s blood –_ fell from the knife tip to the floor.

This- it didn’t make sense!

Teach took a step closer, and Ace felt the muscles in his body flinch against his will, tightening in instinctual fear.

He couldn’t have- why would he have-

_Thatch._

“Teach, we have to get Thatch medical care-”

“Yeah, it looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Ace stopped, mouth snapping closed. No matter how much he wanted to deny it-

Teach had done this.

Teach had done this, and was going to make sure that Thatch and him wouldn’t live to tell the tale of the culprit.

Anger curled in his gut, and he carefully slid Thatch’s body to the floor, standing up on steady feet and hearing dull explosions and screaming echo around the ship.

Teach had done this, and Ace wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

Thatch’s hand fastened around his ankle, and Ace jolted in surprise. Determination was written clearly on Thatch’s face, a silent promise that he’d hold on till help could come. “Run, Ace,” he said, but Ace kneeled down and peeled off Thatch’s hand.

“I never run.”

He stood again, falling into a fighting stance, but Teach only grinned as Ace’s palms lit with bright flames, throwing them into stark black relief.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Teach said, and then suddenly Ace’s world was thrown upside down.

His whole body was sent flying into the wall as an explosive hit the ship where they’d been standing. Ace could barely stand, ears ringing from the sound and body unbalanced by the woozy ache that had suddenly prevailed in his body.  He could see the stars glimmer from where he stood, staring at Ace through the hole in the wall, but then a set of thrusters slowly obscured his view, blotting out the tiny lights.

He blinked, and could see double, a phantom image floating on his iris, and it took all of his self control to try and shake his head and get rid of it.

Teach’s body swam in front of Ace as Teach stepped forwards, a grey length of metal in his hands, and Ace tried to step forwards, throwing out a wide punch. Teach sidestepped it with ease, throwing one loop of metal around Ace’s arm and pulling it tight.

A guttural scream tore itself from Ace’s throat as the metal pinched his skin, and he scrambled at the chain links, trying to peel it off uselessly. Teach looped the metal again, catching his other arm, and Ace’s voice cracked at the pain, yell blocked in the back of his throat.

 _This shouldn’t be happening,_ he thought desperately, trying to turn to fire, but his body stayed stubbornly solid.

He was pulled off balance, but instead of falling to his knees Teach heaved the metal above his head, forcing Ace to take his bodyweight on his straining arms. He struggled uselessly, but his writhing only caused the chains to tighten and he bit back another howl of pain.

Distracted by the agony in his arms, Ace didn’t realise that the ship floating in front of the hole in his wall had slid out a loading dock, anchoring it to Ace’s room. “ _Burgess!_ ” Teach yelled, throwing Ace to the side, and he landed with a thump that drove the breath from his body.

Ace’s attempts to stand were thwarted as a booted heel hit his ribs, sending his all-to-solid body crashing back to the deck.

His arms were pulled upwards again, clicking in his arm sockets, and he bit his lip, trying to seal a pained whimper. The pain only got worse as he started to move, pulled towards the loading dock of Teach’s ship.

His back scraped against the debris as he tried to struggle, and he could feel the sharp edges of wood drawing jagged wounds through his skin, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get free, he couldn’t be captured, he had to-

_Thatch._

Thatch was still lying there, blood forming a dark pool around his body. Ace could see him drag his head up, eyes fearful, and Ace pulled on the chains again, a desperate yell on his lips. “ _Thatch_!”

His body hit smooth, cold metal, and he flinched. Hydraulics hissed, the loud sound echoing in the small space, and the floor under them began to tilt, slowly sealing Thatch away from Ace’s sight. _Thatch, please-_ he begged, but he didn’t know how to end the thought.

Be okay? Find help? Save me?                       

_Stay alive._

The cargo bay doors sealed, casting them into darkness, and Ace tried to continue struggling, but his energy had faded into exhaustion, and he was losing more blood than he’d ever lost before. He’d been so unused to things hurting him that blood loss now was making his head woozy.

Flickers of light played against his eyelids as he was dragged through the ship, but he could barely keep his eyes open to watch where they were going, trying to focus on staying conscious and ignoring the pain in his arms.

For a moment they paused, and Ace heard another hiss as a door slid open. Then, unceremoniously, he was thrown forwards, hitting a metal wall and unwillingly letting out a cry of pain. His stomach rolled, and he could feel himself start to shiver as his body tried to block out what was happening.

 _Shock,_ he thought dazedly, knowing the medical term but hardly able to believe that it was happening to him. His arms were yanked above his head, and he could hear a tiny series of clicks as they were fastened above the wall, and then the door slid open again and he was left alone.

If only he could muster up the energy to escape-

But none of his limbs would listen to him, and Ace drifted slowly in and out of consciousness, unsure about how much time had passed in the tiny, pitch black room.

‘Waking’ was almost worse than sleeping; he wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed, wasn’t sure if the flickers of movement he could see were real or imagined, even as he tried to keep a calm head and breathe. He’d never been used to the dark, always easily able to light a fire to see by, but his fire – no matter how hard he tried – stayed stubbornly away from his control.  

Rage surged in his chest, heady and unstoppable, and he let loose a roar that made his ears ring, but no-one came to see the cause of the noise. No-one even noticed he was in here, even as he struggled against the chains, even as he let loose another howl of anger and anguish.

No-one cared that he was here at all.

The burst of energy faded slowly, Ace trying to hold onto the last vestiges as it slipped away from him, until finally he dropped his head and could feel hot tears splattering against his bent legs. It wasn't fair, it wasn't _right_.

He didn't know what was worse – the feeling of hopelessness or the feeling of betrayal.

Teach shouldn’t have been able to do this, should never have been able to get away with it. If Ace had just been stronger- if he’d fought harder-

He wouldn’t be here. Thatch would’ve been found, and his life wouldn’t hang in a tentative balance. It was all Ace could do to keep hold of the fragile hope that Thatch was still breathing, when Ace’s last image of him had been framed by the slowly growing pool of red.

Ace wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door slid open again; only that as light flooded into his prison, he had to squint and blink away the pain. Teach stepped inside, immaculate and fingers glittering with rings, but Ace could only stare at the den den mushi in his hands.

If he could get hold of that, he could warn Whitebeard-

“ _Ace_?” Marco’s familiar voice called, and Ace felt his heart stop.

“M-marco?” he stuttered, words falling from him unbidden, and then the den den mushi interrupted in a flurry of worried noise and Ace felt tears brim at the back of his eyes again. It was only sheer determination that kept him from crying in front of Teach, who’d taken up residency on a small table near Ace and was grinning viciously.

“Why don’t you tell them how much fun we’ve been having?” Teach asked, cutting off all the demands that the crew was sending through the den den mushi for Ace to tell them he was safe. It made his heart _ache,_ that they all wanted – needed – to know that he wasn’t dead. “Sadly, Thatch couldn’t join us, but ol’ Sparky here’s been keeping my little black room all lit up and warm. Well, actually, he’s been doing a shit job of it. Just sits here in the dark.”

Ace’s lip curled angrily, but he refused to let Teach distract him, focusing his attention on the den den mushi. “Did you find Tha-?”

Fingertips pinched his cheeks tightly, nails forcing his lips to purse and cutting off his words, and he hissed at the sensation, feeling tiny pinpricks where his skin had broken under Teach’s sharp nails. “Did I say you could speak?” Teach asked cordially, absolutely calm, but his eyes narrowed and his fingertips squeezed Ace’s face threateningly.

Ace couldn’t move for fear of Teach’s nails cutting too far and slicing through his lip, or straight through his cheek. He’d seen Teach’s strength before, and knew without a doubt that Teach could easily puncture his skin. For a moment everything was still.   

Then, Teach grinned and let go, settling himself back on the table. He hoisted the den den mushi again, lips curling into a smirk. “Don’t worry about getting a piece of paper for my demands, Whitebeard. There’s only really a few if you don’t want your _son_ to die.”

The way he spoke the word made it seem condescending; an insult of the highest calibre, and Ace bristled, biting his tongue.

There was a moment of heavy silence from the den den mushi, and then Whitebeard’s angry voice boomed from the speaker. “What do you want from me, Teach?”

“ _You_ don’t even have to do anything,” Teach said, grinning. “After all, Marco could just fly himself over.”

“You will not take another of my sons!” Whitebeard bellowed, and Ace could see the den den shake with the force of Oyaji’s words.

“That’s not your choice to make,” Teach shot back, knuckles white around the den den, and Ace grinned at the sight, glad that Teach still felt fear. He deserved it, deserved every moment he’d now spend looking over his back and waiting for Whitebeard’s crew to hunt him down. He’d never be safe, and Ace was glad of it. "Well?" he demanded evenly, swinging his leg back and forth. "Aren't you going to come for him, Marco?"

" _Don't_ -" Ace tried to say, but was cut off when Teach's foot snapped upwards and into the bottom of his jaw. He let out an involuntary cry of pain, and heard a growl from the other end of the den den mushi.

“Don’t touch my son, Teach,” Whitebeard spat, and Ace clenched his fist, refusing to think about how his heart still felt like someone was squeezing it when Whitebeard called him _son_.

“Already have. Well, one of them, anyway. I’m not sure the other should even be called your son…”

“Nothing would ever change my mind, Teach! Nothing but the crime _you_ committed.”

“Not even a little bit of truth about our Ace’s name?”

“Stop it!” Ace screamed, feeling the dry skin on the side of his lips crack, straining against the metal that bound him, and Teach grinned at the sight.

“We are coming for him, no matter what you would say to dissuade us.”  Whitebeard said, voice dropping into a low, threatening tone.

Teach hummed quietly, an ugly grin on his face, and Ace wished that he had even an inch more leeway. Teach deserved to be punched for what he'd done, and if he were free Ace would've gladly have volunteered.

“Really, Whitebeard? And what if I told you that there was more than one explosive on your ship? If you think you can stop me, go ahead, but as soon as you get close, I’ll blow your ship into the void!”

“You _bastard,_ ” Ace heard Izo hiss, but only taut silence followed his words and Teach’s grin grew wider.

“I’m coming,” Marco finally said, and Ace felt his heart jump in fear.

“No!” he shouted, “Marco, you can’t-!”

Teach cut him off again, the resounding slap making everyone on the other side of the den den mushi yell angrily.

 _Marco can’t come,_ Ace thought desperately, _not for_ **_me!_ **

Not for someone whose life had been forfeit since the day he’d first taken breath!

“ _Marco-_ ” he tried again, frantic, but this time Teach didn’t even let him begin to speak. His pointed boot hit Ace in the stomach and drove away his breath and words.

“Stop it!” Marco yelled, and Ace felt his heart knot, imagining the bright orange of Marco’s skin. “If you’ve hurt him, Teach-”

“What’s to say I haven’t?” Teach said with a cruel laugh, and Ace watched with disgust as his expression morphed with a calculating air. “How’s about we say this, _taichōu –_ you get here faster than my marks become permanent.”

Without waiting for a response, Teach hung up.

The silence almost seemed deafening now that the comforting babble of the Whitebeard pirates was gone, but all Ace could think about was Marco.

Marco, coming to save him, though he knew it was going to be a trap. Proud, elegant, _Marco_ , giving up his freedom for someone like _Ace-_

And Ace hadn’t even had the bravery to tell him the truth. If he had, Marco would’ve never come.

His stomach churned sickeningly with self-loathing, and he couldn’t keep his head up, too heavy for the weight that rested on his shoulders.

Marco was coming for him, and Ace hadn’t been able to convince him to leave Ace behind.

When a set of wary marines came through the door and pulled him from the wall, Ace didn’t bother fighting back. All he could remember was Teach’s triumphant grin, and the flickering gold of Marco’s skin.

He never should’ve hoped, never should’ve encouraged that tiny colour, never should’ve let Marco believe that Ace was something he wasn’t.  

He never should’ve let any of them care about him; then, they would’ve been safe from the mess he was about to drag them into.

* * *

 

“You can’t go.”

“What am I to do, Izo? Stay behind, when I know that I could do _something?_ ”

“Do something? You’d be just as trapped, and we’d be down three crew members instead of two! What about Thatch-”

“What about him?” Marco said, and Izo’s face flashed white in anger.

“ _Marco!_ ” he yelled, hand raised, poised to slap him. Only iron self control kept his hand from meeting Marco’s cheek. “How _dare you,_ ” Izo hissed, quivering in rage, “you- you selfish _bastard!_ Running after Ace- you think this is going to make him see you like his knight in shining armour? You think this’ll fool him into liking you?”

Izo’s short laughter was cruel and sharp; his words, much the same. He knew what would hurt, and refused to pull any punches. Not when he knew that real punches would only heal without a mark.

“Don’t you dare mistake what I feel, Izo,” Marco growled, skin flickering, but Izo ignored all the warning signs, spitting out,

“You’re leaving your brother behind, leaving your whole family-”

“Ace _is_ family!” Marco roared, and his skin turned – for the first time in years – a deep crimson colour. “And we don’t leave our family behind! No matter how much I want to be here, I _can’t!_ Not if it means we’ll lose two brothers.”

Izo realised, suddenly, that Marco was shaking.

Not in anger, but in grief.

His own rage drained away, leaving only behind a frozen hollow space as he realised that, and he carefully laid his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, watching Marco’s skin fluctuate between red and a hauntingly deep blue. “Marco, I- I’m sorry.”

“I want to be here,” Marco said, voice hoarse, “more than anything, I want to be here for when Thatch wakes up. But for Ace- if there’s anything I can do to help Ace, I have to try.”

“But-,” Izo said hoarsely, licking his dry lips, “what if you don’t come back?”

“I can’t die, Izo,” Marco said, lips twitching into the mockery of a smile, and Izo felt his chest ache.

“That’s the problem.”

Marco looked startled for a moment, almost as though caught, and Izo’s chest started to contract, squeezing his heart, even as Marco mastered his emotions again and replied, “You’ll be right behind me though, won’t you? It’s not a big deal, yoi. Besides, I bet Ace’ll get back before you even have time to remove those bombs.”

He tightened the sleeves on his suit, securing the last of the straps he needed for long stellar flights, and then tapped his mask, letting a grey filter obscure his eyes – and the colour of his skin – from Izo’s vision.

Izo couldn’t speak as they walked up to the deck, unable to figure out what he could say. He knew Marco wouldn’t stay, not with everyone’s life at stake, and yet-

As Marco took to the stars, feathers glittering as brightly as any star, Izo couldn’t help but remember that he’d never heard Marco say _I’ll come back._

* * *

 

Teach’s ship was hovering in the orbit of Arachina, right where he’d said it would be. Only a few short cliks from the _Moby_ and yet, with the crew’s life in the balance, the _Moby_ was unable to reach it.  

It was obviously a commandeered marine vessel, outfitted in the usual pirate fashion; with extra, non-regulation nik-naks to make it twice as dangerous, and Marco half expected to be shot down. However, as he circled the ship only a loading bay opened and he alighted upon the edge carefully, stepping inside as it slid shut behind him again. Air whistled into the cabin, and Marco unhitched his mask, clipping it to his belt and resettling his wings.

The far door slid open, and Marines flooded inside, guns forming a bristling wall as they formed against him. He raised his open palms, showing that he was unarmed – but, really, a lack of weaponry didn’t make much difference to how deadly he could be.

One of the marines stepped forwards, shoulders decorated in silver tassels. “Phoenix Marco, you are hereby under the custody of the Interplanetary Defence Force. All legal rights were waived upon the lack of identification presented when you first arrived planet side at Ulteria several years ago, under the Illegal Planetary Movement Act. You are hereby to serve as called upon by the IDF, but will currently be kept under guard for your crimes against the League of Allied Planets.”  

“Did you memorise that?” Marco remarked, mildly impressed despite himself.

“Arrest him.” The marine said with a scowl, and though there was a short hesitation, two marines came forwards, brandishing cuffs. Marco bit back another snappy reply, letting them chain his hands behind his back and loop a heavy collar around his throat.

The marine captain then stepped forwards, grabbing the chain and pulling it insistently. Marco obliged him, eyes scanning the loading bay as they began to march through the ship, leading him deeper inside the maze of hallways.

He could see a path of dried blood, flecks of it caught in the uneven ridges of the floor, and narrowed his eyes at the sight. If that was Ace’s-

He couldn’t finish the thought, knowing that he had to keep his head even and free from anger. He was in enemy territory, and he couldn’t let his guard down for even a minute.

They moved through hallway after hallway until they finally met a set of large doors. He almost considered rolling his eyes as the guard plugged in a set of numbers, knowing he could kick these doors down with ease but letting them have their false sense of security.

Metal doors swished open in front of them almost soundlessly, and Marco smirked at the darkness, and the blue light rippling across the floor. It was eerie, for sure, but he knew what they were playing at – they just wanted to try and intimidate him.

Idiots.

He kept his head held high as they stepped inside the room, giving a cursory glance around and mentally cataloguing anything he could use as a weapon should the need arise. The room was almost bare, and only barely lit by the ports set high in the side.

As his eyes adjusted his attention was drawn to the one other source of light in the room; a set of glowing tanks set into the wall. Almost instinctively he took a step forwards, but suspicion flickered in his chest when his guards did little to stop him.  

In fact, one of them hid a grin.

Dread grew heavier the closer he stepped to the tank and the blue liquid it contained, until finally he was close enough to see that someone floated in it, wrists bound in chains and hair drifting about their head.

No-

Not someone.

_Ace._

His heart stopped, and Marco rushed towards the tank, surprising his guards and feeling his own manacles go slack for a moment. His fist hit the glass, and he could hear the reverberations; could see Ace’s eyes blink open.

Automatically, Ace’s eyes narrowed in a glare as he stared down to the guards and Marco, but Marco caught the second that Ace realised he was standing there too.

His eyes widened in shock, and Marco saw him soundlessly mouth something before he struggled forwards, placing his hands against the glass.

 _“You idiot!”_ he mouthed, expression heartbreakingly distraught, but Marco could only offer a soft smile, placing his hands against where Ace’s were.

“I couldn’t just leave you here, yoi,” Marco said, bumping the glass lightly with his knuckles, and he wasn’t sure if Ace understood or not; only that Ace’s face twisted even further and he squeezed his eyes shut. His hair drifted slowly in front of his face, strands highlighted blue, and Marco wished that he could run his hand through them, pull Ace’s face up and assure him as many times as was needed that Marco would _always_ come for him.  

Before Ace could reply, Marco found the slack chains tightening again, and was pulled off balance. Though he tried to fight back, his hands were peeled from the glass and he was forced to watch Ace’s eyes fill with fear, before Ace wiped his expression and set his jaw stubbornly.

“ _Hope you’ve got a plan, bird brain_ ,” Ace mouthed, refusing to turn as Marco was dragged away.

“When do I not?” Marco said back, offering a cocky smirk before finally relinquishing the fight and standing tall once more. His guards were sent off balance as he stopped struggling, and Marco gave Ace a slow wink, seeing Ace’s lips curve into the tiniest smile.

Marco’s guards quickly righted themselves, and this time – more enraged than before – they set a quick pace out the room and into a smaller office nearby. Languid as always, Marco refused to let their irritation bother him. All he’d wanted to know was that Ace was unharmed – and, though trapped behind glass – Ace hadn’t looked grievously injured.

If he had, this meeting likely wouldn’t have gone as well as Teach wanted it to.   

As it was, Marco was still pissed off; Ace didn’t deserve to be in chains, nor locked in some horrible, high-tech prison.

Two chairs were set in front of a steel and plasma-screen desk, and Marco stepped forwards to take a seat, but found himself stopped with a harsh tug. He turned and gave the guards a glare, but they refused to succumb, and Marco was pulled away from the chairs.

 _Asshats,_ he thought, folding his arms in front of him and settling himself down to wait for Teach to arrive.

Time dragged by slowly, and Marco, thoughts occupied only by Ace’s predicament, could hardly believe that Teach would take so long.

Then again, Teach had already proven he didn’t care about them – about any of them.

His feet were starting to ache faintly when Teach finally decided to show up, and Marco straightened from his slouch, blue eyes fastened on Teach as he sat down on the no doubt extremely comfortable chair.

Marco tried not to be jealous, imagining how difficult it would be to get blood out of such a chair, but it did little to help the pain growing in his feet.

“Hello, _taichōu_ ,” Teach greeted, a smile flittering over his lips, and Marco kept his expression blank, shoulders set.

“You lost the right to call me that when you first started planning to betray us.”

“I’d _always_ planned this,” Teach said, faux, childish confusion on his face, and his smile turned into a grin when Marco couldn’t help the shock on his face. He’d known that this plan would’ve taken months to set into place but-

Teach had been planning this since he’d joined them?

“And here I thought my utter disdain for you couldn’t grow anymore, yoi,” Marco said, lips curled into a sneer.

Teach shrugged, looking completely unperturbed by the harsh accusations. “Here _I_ thought your utter foolishness would somehow have a limit, but you continue to surprise.”

Marco narrowed his eyes, wishing that the burning curiosity in his chest didn’t beg to be sated. Wishing that he didn’t have to stoop to asking Teach for an answer.

“What have you done?” he growled, teeth gritted, and hated how Teach’s eyes danced at the victory.

“More so a question of what have _you_ done,” Teach replied. “What have you done, by leaving your crew without the protection your existence offers? What have you done, leaving your crew alone, with a whole set of primed explosives on board?”

He shrugged, languidly, and Marco felt the beginnings of a tight yell in the back of his throat, something akin to panic squeezing his heart. “If you’ve hurt them-!” he hissed, barely able to keep himself under control and feeling anger burn in his chest.

“You should be more worried about yourself, _taichōu._ And maybe if you’ve got the time, try and figure out what’s wrong with Ace. Though, I doubt you’ll ever be able to guess. He’s just got one problem after another running in his blood.”

“You don’t have permission to speak about him like that,” Marco spat, and Teach grinned at the show of defiance.

“I have permission to speak about anyone however I like. Who’s going to stop me? _You?_ ”  

Marco bristled, for the first time truly realising his uselessness in this situation. His hands were quite literally tied, bound behind his back with a metal that wouldn’t let his nanotech move, and without the ability to peel that away his winged form was entirely out of reach.

On top of that, Ace’s tank looked to be made of thick plasma, which was notoriously hard to break at the best of times. How could he do it without inadvertently hurting Ace?

He could get the cuffs off, sickening though the plan was; he, at least, could heal almost instantly. His family – _Ace_ – could not. Even if _he_ could escape, he needed time. Time to let his family find the bombs Teach had hidden, and time for a plan to form that would let him help Ace.

“You _will_ regret this, Teach.”

“Take him away,” Teach said, giving an uninterested hand flick in his direction, and Marco had to hold back the urge to bristle at the callous gesture. _He’d learn his mistake soon enough,_ Marco thought, gritting his teeth but refusing to bow his head, and he found himself marched back into the room where Ace’s tank was.

Something hard hit the back of his knees, and Marco fell forwards with a grunt, barely managing to catch himself. With an irritated huff he blew his hair from his eyes, fastening a steely glare on the guard who’d tripped him.

The guard grinned, and then their metal baton smacked him across the cheek, sending searing pain through his bones and cracking the side of his oxygen mask. An exhale of pain left his lips, but he refused to let sound escape him, bottling up the urge to yell as the pain faded and then vanished.

A series of clicks met his ears, and Marco frowned, before pulling on his cuffs experimentally. They barely budged, and his lip curled in anger before he slid an expression of distaste over it.  

He couldn’t let them see what he felt. Couldn’t let them know what he thought.

Couldn’t let them know how he planned to escape.

The doors slid shut again, and Marco rocked back on his heels, letting himself settle onto his calves. He couldn’t sit cross-legged, and this would surely get painful soon, but for now he could deal with it.

He craned his neck to the side, twisting haphazardly in an attempt to see Ace’s tank, and gave a tiny sigh of relief when he saw that Ace was still there. It hurt his neck being in that position, and he was forced to stare at the ground again, but his heart felt lighter, knowing that Ace was okay.

As soon as the _Moby_ was given her repairs, they’d both be even better than okay – they’d be on their way home, and Teach would be a distant memory, swallowed by the darkness of space.

They just had to hold out until then.

* * *

 

It was hard to tell the time while travelling – even more so while being kept prisoner. Though Ace could count the guards’ shift, he didn’t know when they were meant to change, and only bare flickers from passing comets – or, possibly, suns – would ever pass through his and Marco’s prison, lighting the floor for a brief moment.

Every time he breathed it felt as though he should cough as well, feeling liquid press against the back of his throat before he could swallow the urge to heave. Chains wound around his wrists kept him from floating to the top of the tank to breathe in the precious oxygen and create a spark, but Ace found he almost didn’t miss his powers as much as he missed breathing air.

With a quiet sigh Ace moved forwards in the tank to stare at Marco again, trying to fight back the heavy feeling in his chest. Marco could’ve easily escaped at least four or five times if it hadn’t been for Ace. He could’ve been long gone, back where he belonged-

Where they both belonged?

Thatch’s declaration floated to the forefront of his mind again, but Ace couldn’t think of Thatch words without remembering what Teach had done. Who knew if Thatch was even still alive? Who knew if the Whitebeards would all agree with what Thatch had said?

Ace needed to tell them, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

But first- He needed to tell Marco, first.

Then Marco wouldn’t feel obligated to stay and try and save him – who’d want to save the son of the Star King, after all?

He breathed again, fighting past the choking feeling of water slipping down his throat, and then rested his palms against the glass with a click.

 _Click?_ Ace thought to himself, looking down and trying to find the source of the sound. His bracelet stared back at him innocently, a flicker of gold and red making his heart leap.

His fire was stuck in that bracelet.

_His fire was stuck in that bracelet._

Hands curled into fists, and he beat against the glass, praying for Marco to turn around and see him. Almost as though he could hear Ace’s thoughts, Marco seemed to stiffen, and then twisted his head, staring at Ace and his tank.

Joy leapt in his heart, and Ace pulled his chained wrists forwards, pointing at the bracelet on his wrist. Marco frowned in confusion, and Ace tried to think of how he could possibly explain, now that Marco wasn’t close enough to read his lips.

His knowledge of the crew’s sign language was rudimentary at best, but Ace still pursed his lips and folded his hands in front of him, trying to keep Marco’s attention on him.

**Bracelet, me. Fire. Explosion!**

Irritation flashed across his face when Marco only stared at him in confusion, and Ace forced himself to breathe and slow down.

He pointed at his bracelet, and then paused, staring at it for a moment. Well, Marco had always said he was a better visual learner. And, as long as Ace got out, Marco would likely take any chance proffered to escape.

Ace’s eyes flicked to the guards, watching as one of them shifted and yawned, and then turned his attention back to Marco, signing, **_be ready._ **

Then, he pressed his bracelet to his chains and prayed. His heart leapt as the metal began to heat. Though it burnt his wrist he refused to let go until suddenly the pressure vanished and the chain fell off and drifted to the bottom of the tank.

His fearful gaze snapped up to the guards, heart hammering when he realised they hadn’t noticed. Ace sought out Marco next, watching as understanding dawned on Marco’s face.

He grinned, knowing Marco had figured out his plan, and pressed his bracelet to the glass, watching as it slowly went red. All he could hope for was that there was enough of his energy still left inside the bracelet to burn through the thick glass – or at least, dent it enough so he could punch through.

Thin cracks began to spread across the glass, and Ace paused for half a second, his eyes snapping up to Marco’s again. Marco nodded, and Ace pressed his wrist even closer to the glass.

With a tremendous thundering crash, the glass shattered and water flowed onto the floor, pulling Ace along with it. Fresh air cooled his skin almost instantly, making him shiver, and Ace saw Marco get up, slipping his hands out of his own chains easily.

The guards on duty jumped at the sound, turning and staring at the mess Ace had created, and Ace grinned as he watched Marco dispatch them with two swift kicks.

Ace opened his mouth, poised to call Marco’s name, and then froze, sound dying on his tongue.

He couldn’t breathe.

He heaved in frantically, but though he could feel air on his skin none rushed into his starving lungs.

Marco’s expression, earlier so relieved when Ace had broken the tank, morphed at the expression of panic likely all over Ace’s face. He could hear Marco’s footsteps as he splashed through the water towards Ace, a frantic beat that matched his racing heart. He tried to scramble upwards, tried to breathe, tried to get Marco to escape-

But Marco wasn’t leaving.

“Ace?”

It felt as though he were drowning.

“What the hell’s going on, yoi?”

 _Marco had to leave,_ Ace thought, the certainty singing even above his panic, and his hands wrapped around Marco’s forearms, words wheezing out of his throat in a desperate attempt to drive Marco away. “Gol- Gol D. Roger was my father. Roger was my father.”

Marco’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he tried to pick up Ace’s struggling body. “You really think this is the best time to be talking about biological ancestry?”

Ace blinked, frozen. _Why won’t you-_ “Leave,” he rasped, weak hands pushing against Marco’s chest. “Leave me-”

“No,” Marco snapped, finally managing to pick him up, and Ace couldn’t fight anymore, darkness encroaching on his vision, narrowing his sight only to the bright gold on Marco’s body.

_Gold._

“You-” he wheezed, fingertips pushing against Marco’s skin and watching thin tendrils spread from his touch like a map to Marco’s heart, “You love me.”

He meant to phrase it more like a question and less like a statement, but it somehow came out as a mix of both. Marco’s face set like stone when Ace spoke, but he didn’t hesitate in his reply. “Yes.”

Ace squeezed his eyes shut, trying again to breathe but his chest just tightened even more, heart thudding against his ribs. Only...this time he wasn’t sure what parts of it were his slow suffocation and which part was elation.

Which part was the knowledge that Marco _loved him,_ even after he’d found out who Ace’s father was.

His whole body jerked, a few sparks escaping him unbidden, but they refused to clear the liquid that seemed stuck in his lungs.

Ace could only just barely hear Marco’s voice floating in his ears as his vision narrowed to black spots, “I promise you,” Marco said, and Ace could barely feel Marco’s gentle fingers combing his damp hair from his face. “We will get out of here. And when we do, I’ll take you to the most beautiful places in the galaxy. There’s one star in the Orion nebulae where the water reflects the sky, and the sky always looks like a sunset.” He could hear Marco’s shuddering breath, could feel the soft touch of his hair as he pressed his forehead to Ace’s, could almost imagine Marco’s eyes squeezed shut. “But you have to keep breathing, for me. Please, Ace. Just- keep breathing.”

It hurt, trying to breathe. Trying, over and over again.

It hurt, as Marco ran through the corridors before finally sliding to a stop, their path to freedom blocked by guards.

It hurt, even as cold liquid slowly surrounded his body again, Marco’s arms sliding him back into the tank – into the cold.

He gasped weakly against the chill, and suddenly felt oxygen flow back into his lungs, making him gag. Coughing to try and get the water out did little good when he was surrounded in it. Ace could only double over, suppressing the urge to retch whatever was caught inside his body.

“Perfluorocarbon,” Teach said, as though he’d read Ace’s mind, and Ace could hear Teach’s words reverberate through the tank. He could barely crack his eyes open, pain soaring through his chest with every breath, but forced himself to see what was going on.

Marco stood in front of his tank, hands dripping the same blue liquid that Ace was trapped in, and held back by several guards. Though he glared at Teach, once he saw that Ace was looking his expression faltered and flickered with sadness.  

 _I’m sorry,_ Marco mouthed, his lips barely moving, and Ace glared, shaking his head stubbornly, though the movement hurt.

_It’s not your fault!_

Marco’s expression didn’t change, and Ace’s heart ached at the sight, his burning throat fading to the back of his mind.  

“You think that I didn’t have plans set in place, for this eventuality?” Teach gave a loud laugh, and Marco’s attention drifted from the tank, his eyes narrowing. “That I wouldn’t have thought about you trying to escape? Take Ace out of the tank, and he dies.”

“You don’t think the marines’d be mad that you killed the person they planned on executing, yoi?”

“They never wanted him alive, anyway.”

Ace could see the fractional twitch of Marco’s muscles, almost like a flinch; or an aborted move to punch Teach, and had to seal his mouth shut before he screamed. He’d vowed that he’d never feel useless again and yet here he was, stuck behind glass yet again as Marco’s life hung on a tentative balance.

He wished that he could tell Marco to stop defending him, to hold his tongue, but knew what a hypocrite that would make him; he’d never been one to keep his mouth shut when someone had insulted those he cared for-

And Marco cared. Maybe as much as Ace cared about him.

“Why all of this then?” Marco said evenly, and there was nothing to belay his feelings but a fraction of a second where his eyes darted towards Ace. “Why the tank, and all your plans, yoi?”

“Have you ever wondered what first started molecular experiments?” Teach said, changing the subject so swiftly that Ace could see the ‘ _no’_ that formed on Marco’s tongue and the frown of confusion before he hid it. “See, the basis of it was the world government found a species with _no form._ Now how amazing would that have been? Even if they never left their planet, the pure possibilities were mindboggling! A species that fed off radiation, that kept a form using highly developed technology, that held more power than a bomb- don’t you think that such an impossibility would’ve drawn the attention of more than a few scientists who’d hoped to recreate it? And when one of those planet’s inhabitants left their orbit, and became an easy study…”

Ace could see the moment when realisation dawned on Marco; felt it dawn at the same time in his own chest, and Marco’s eyes fastened on him, wide and filled with anguish.

He couldn’t help but stare back, almost unable to comprehend what Teach was saying.

Marco’s existence – Marco’s _freedom –_ was what had caused Ace’s powers. The disease that even now still tried to pull his form from solid matter to pure energy. Marco’s escape from his home planet had led Ace to a lifetime of paranoia, waiting for the moment when he imploded, scattering to the stars.

But Marco’s expression was breaking something inside Ace’s heart that fear had never been able to touch. His stomach churned, and he could feel his fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his palm, white knuckles pressed to the glass.  

Desperation sung inside his chest as he tried to figure out how to tell Marco that his escape had never been anything but a blessing, that he deserved to live and be free as much as Ace had, that it _wasn’t his fault,_ but words failed him and his mouth only opened uselessly, water pushing on the back of his throat.

He closed his eyes, head falling forwards to rest against the glass, and could feel his hair drift around the back of his neck. Everything was so silent it felt as though the world had simply ceased in that moment.  

“So, the world government is after more than my head,” remarked Marco quietly, breaking the silence, and his voice sent shivers running down Ace’s spine even as he screwed his eyes shut tighter.

“If I hand you in, they’ll trade me.” Teach said, and Ace could _hear_ the triumphant grin in his voice. “A single secret for all of yours, and I’ve already planned how to use it. What do you think the Starships would do against the might of the person who wields a black hole? What do you think _Whitebeard_ could do?”

His laughter made Ace flinch, instinctively curling closer and trying to fight back the urge to yell until his throat was raw, and the effort it took to keep his scream held back made his jaw ache.

“If that was your goal all along,” Marco said, “then why take Ace, too?”

“It’s more than slightly difficult to capture someone with no form,” Teach said flippantly, but then Ace heard his tone shift, the bitter barb falling from his lips with an ease that Ace still couldn’t believe could come from someone who’d saved his life more than once. “Besides, Roger’s son should face the indignity of being strung up and torn apart, don’t you think?”

“No-one deserves that, least of all Ace,” Marco spat, the first hint of emotion that had crept into his voice since he and Teach had started their conversation. Ace forced himself to open his eyes, choking back the paranoia that letting himself watch the proceedings would end with him having to watch Marco die. “Besides, he’s more Whitebeard’s son than he ever was Roger’s, and no-one else but him gets to decide how he balances the distinction!”

For a second, Teach looked taken aback. Ace _felt_ taken aback, unused to having someone jump to so fierce a defence on his behalf. His brothers had done it, and his crew occasionally, but-

It was still a surprise to hear such vehement protection from someone else’s lips.

“It doesn't matter what he _thinks,”_ Teach growled through gritted teeth, glaring at Marco. “He has the blood of the King of Stars in him, and the League is going to stop at nothing to eradicate it! What do you think would happen, even if you did manage to escape me? Now that they know who he is, they'll _never stop._ Are you really going to put all of your crew in danger for just one man?”

Marco smiled softly at Ace, the tinge of cocky confidence pulling at his lips. “Ace isn't just one man. He's our brother. And none of the crew is going to let him go that easily, no matter what the League wants.” His eyes fastened onto Teach, narrowed into slits as his voice dropped to a low growl, “And they will _never_ let you get away for what you've done here.”

“Your stupid ideas of family are truly idiotic, _taichōu._ Putting your safety beneath someone else's- it was one of the things I could never understand about that damn crew.”

“You didn't understand a lot about us, it seems. Though then again I don't expect _you_ to have understood anything.”

Teach grit his teeth again, and Ace had to smother a grin. When Teach’s look of fury only got more pronounced however, he knew he'd been unsuccessful.

“Keep him away from the lights, and near the front of the ship.” Teach snapped at his guards, who saluted uneasily, still gripping Marco’s biceps. With another click Ace saw chains placed over Marco’s forearms again. Teach’s fingers found their way to Marco’s cheeks, squeezing roughly, and Ace shuddered at Teach’s grin. “We'll see if you practicing your control helps you control your _tongue._ ”

For a brief moment Marco looked almost horrified, but he tried to cover it. Then Teach grabbed Marco’s ear, and with a vicious pull, tore the radiation suppressor straight from Marco’s skin.

“ _Marco!_ ” Ace screamed, fists slammed against the glass, and he could see the corner of Teach’s lip curl up, even as Marco’s mouth dropped open in a cry of agony. His ear wasn't healing- Ace thought in horror, watching droplets of glittering blood fall from Marco’s ear. Where it fell left marks on Marco’s cloak, staining the deep blue fabric.

Marco’s shoulders bunched up, taloned hands clenched, and Ace could see him shaking at the pain. His skin was flickering brightly, luster no longer dulled by the nanotech, but Ace wasn't paying attention to it - only to the putrid yellow that spread across Marco’s skin like an oil slick.

 _Please, heal-_ he begged, but as the guards hesitantly began to shuffle Marco to the front of the ship, Ace couldn't see the telltale flicker as Marco’s body reformed.


	6. leave me your stardust (to remember you by)

 When Marco was younger, he'd been alone. His race was largely solitary and nomadic, and running across someone else of his kind - even on the small surface of their planet - was rare. He'd always been delighted to see them, delighted to share his travels and companionship, but it wasn't until he'd been much older that he realised his company wasn't exactly wanted.

And then he'd run into Rouge and her mismatched gang of beings like him, and beings like her. Many of Marco’s people made up the group, but Rouge and her people, he was later to learn, came from a galaxy only a few light years away. Their genetic makeup was at once incredibly similar and incredibly different, and both groups of people had come together to learn.

To stop feeling so alone.

They were _different_ from the rest of Marco’s people, like him. Their markings were shown or obscured on their own fancy, rather than kept respectfully in the open until a large burst of emotion hit. They asked questions, gazed at the stars, and dreamed of something more than their own planet.

It was Rouge’s people who first suggested the idea of making a suit powered by their natural radioactive states, so they could leave the atmosphere without having to worry about feeding. It was one of Marco’s people who made the first break through. By this point, they'd long since stopped being _Marco’s people,_ or _Rouge’s people,_ and had started to become one mismatched group.

A family, though Marco hadn't learnt the meaning of the word till much later.

It took years for them to carefully develop the suit, working together and striving towards one common goal: the stars.

But then, just as they were finishing it, they were betrayed. One of their allies, terrified of attracting the attention of anything that lay beyond the sky of their world, told everything to any he could get in contact with. They stormed through Marco’s home, destroying anything that looked suspicious. Rouge’s ship, with Rouge and only half her people aboard, had taken off shakily, and Marco had prayed in terror until it cleared the horizon.

He'd been the one to grab the suit and sprint for it, almost caught but narrowly managing to find gaps and places to hide,suit held close to his beating heart.

He knew enough about their plans to figure it out, the tenacity of a stubborn adolescent to help him, and though it took weeks he carefully mended the broken parts and put it together again.

And then he'd put it on.

It felt so strange to have his energy regulated that he almost took it off again, but the desperate wish to escape held him strong above all else. He'd tried to figure it out, but it was only by accident that he threw the cloak behind him and had the sleeves transform into a set of glowing wings. Breathless, he'd taken to the sky-

Then crashed, soon after.

He'd spent the next few weeks following after feewoak and trenbar, trying to figure out how they used their wings, and he slowly got better at it. His confidence had been shaken by his first, dreadful fall however, and it wasn't until desperation forced him to act that he finally took to the sky.

They'd found him again.

He'd flown from the planet, pushing past exhaustion for hours, until he finally collapsed against the outside of a small, unmarked vessel.

Luckily for him, the man inside was none other than Whitebeard, who'd taken him in and cared for him until Marco’s health recovered. Even after that, however, they continued to travel together, now used to the other’s presence.

Whitebeard wanted a family. Marco didn't want to be alone.

It worked out well for both of them.

They hadn't found out until much later that though the suit gave Marco a range of ways to channel his natural abilities, it didn't stop the radiation he emitted.

It didn't stop him from hurting Whitebeard. When the realisation hit that he'd poisoned Whitebeard, even by accident-

Oh, Marco detested himself, his existence, his very being. The fact that he'd been born a species so unstable.

Whitebeard had never blamed him for it, a fact Marco hadn't understood until he was much older. In fact, Whitebeard had offered to adopt Marco, and had bought Marco his nanotech earring, designed to protect others from his radiation. They'd lived together in peaceful harmony, and then Marco had caught rumours about a strange lady with the name _Rouge._

He'd begged Whitebeard to find her, and Whitebeard had tried his best, but it wasn't until Roger had started to become a household name that Whitebeard managed to track him and Rouge down.

Marco had almost sprung at her in delight as soon as he recognised her familiar smile, and they'd talked for hours, letting Whitebeard and Roger slowly make their own introductions.

It'd so long since he'd last conversed in the language of home that when Rouge started speaking to him in it, he couldn't hide a teary grin. His name sounded different, not as smooth as when Common changed it, but the familiarity of it all made shivers run down his spine.

Even hearing the suit’s proper name in his language was strange. He'd almost forgotten it. Much like the others he'd merely reverted to calling it the Phoenix suit, liking the way the letters rolled off his tongue.

And hiding the fact that its true purpose was something else altogether.

By the time Whitebeard wanted to leave, he and Roger had become friendly rivals, and Rouge had promised to stay in touch.

Soon after, he and Whitebeard started collecting their own crew, claiming planets and staking out a section of the stars for their own. Whenever a new sibling joined them, Marco’s heart would swell with pride, ready to see the wondrous things they would do.

It was wonderful to be a part of, wonderful to be the _first_ part of a legend that only grew and grew.

Then he'd heard about Roger’s death. He'd mourned for his friend, and mourned even more for Rouge, who'd lost her _best_ friend, and tried not to think about how he'd feel if Thatch or Izo or any one of his siblings were taken from him.

That was the day he'd promised to never let anyone ever hurt the Whitebeard crew. That he'd hunt down and rip apart anyone that even came _close_ to it.

And so watching Akainu now, knowing there was nothing he could do to save Ace but _scream_ at him to move-

The last thought on his mind was that he was breaking his promise, but the first thought he had as Akainu’s fist plunged straight through Ace’s chest, finally destabilising him entirely, was a breathless, anguished _no._

He could feel energy spill from his body, flickers like fire in the corner of his eye,but that thought only made his heart shatter more, cracking and falling to pieces.

Swirling blues and glowing yellows streamed from his back, and Marco curled even further, trying to stop the power he could feel escaping into the air.

He _had_ to get back under control, he couldn’t let himself fall apart like this-

But telling himself what he had to do was easier than actually doing it, and his body refused to listen to his commands. He couldn't rely on his nanotech anymore, the earring stolen from him by Blackbeard, and though he'd modified the Phoenix suit in an effort to control his powers, it wasn't _working._

Ace’s brother let out a choked sounding gasp, his fingers fluttering above the hole in Ace’s back that was slowly growing, and all Marco could think about was that if he could just get over to Ace he could _do_ something-

Gold and red sparks flickered above Ace’s back, his body breaking down, and Marco’s vision was only filled with Akainu and his vicious grin as he reeled back to deliver another punch.

“Get them out!” he roared, shoving down his heartbreaking agony and launching himself forwards, letting his form flicker around Akainu’s punch before delivering a swift kick to Akainu’s chest.

Akainu skidded backwards with a growl, and Marco landed in front of Luffy and Ace, refusing to look backwards. He could only hope that his family had listened to his order, because he couldn't turn.

He couldn't stand to look over his shoulder and confirm that Ace’s body really was breaking apart.

Luffy’s hiccuping sobs met his ears, a plaintive, heartbreaking cry filling the air, and Marco fought the urge to curl up and clutch his chest, feeling the sound echo in the hollow space where he'd thought he'd kept his heart.

Wasn't it funny to think that he'd given it to Ace, unknowingly, and now Ace’s own heart was-

Akainu struck again, and Marco thanked the heavens for the distraction, lashing out viciously with his talons and preventing Akainu from getting close to Ace and Luffy again. Even though Marco’s form was fluctuating wildly, more energy than person, he still had enough sense to hold himself together, desperately.

“Stay away from my sons, Akainu!” he heard Oyaji yell from behind him, and then the sky sounded like it was cracking, a boom that could swallow the planet they were on and even more easily devour the people trapped upon the planet’s surface.

They’d been so, so close when Blackbeard had entered the Prionic system, and the set of strange streams that linked a set of Starfleet controlled planets, but then again, Marco had been so close to Ace and had still let him be taken away, chains twined tight around his bloody forearms.

 _So close,_ he thought, trying to keep Akainu from Oyaji, but then Kizaru was coming from nowhere, his energy trying to contain Marco’s, and Marco _screamed_ when he saw the now familiar bubble of magma tearing through skin.  

“ _Oyaji!_ ”

He wasn’t the only one who’d shouted, couldn’t even hear his own voice above the furious, heartbroken cries of his siblings, but he could see Ace trying to fight back the encroaching flicker of flame that ate away at his skin, tearing past the unmarked skin of his back and all Marco could think about was that quiet night under the stars, _I’m getting my tattoo on my back_ , and Ace _had_ to survive, he hadn’t even got a chance to bear the Whitebeard mark with pride-

The last of his body dissolved like it’d never been there, and Marco felt it when Ace’s fire slipped towards the stars, when the energy that had made up Ace merely-

Vanished.

* * *

He didn’t remember them getting out.

He didn’t remember Shanks’ terrifyingly angry arrival, the truce and silence that’d befallen the battlefield. He would’ve thought that those memories would be the most predominant, but what he remembered most clearly were tiny, idle conversations.

_“Where’s home?” Ace asked, leaning against the rail and staring at the stars, and Marco shrugged._

_“Here,” he answered, and the answer made Ace snort and knock his shoulder._

Ace’s bracelet rested innocently in front of him, gleaming red and white against the dark wood of his desk, and Marco, though he knew it was useless, prayed for the flicker of gold.

A knock on the door broke him from his thoughts, and Marco jolted, his eyes refocusing.

“Commander?” he heard someone call through the door, and then it swung open, letting Vel step through, a den den mushi cradled in his palms. “There’s-”

Vel paused, teeth scraping against each other as though he were chewing the words. Marco watched him fight uselessly to spit out what he wanted to say, then gave up, settling the den den mushi on his desk.

It peered at him blankly as Vel quickly escaped the room, and Marco straightened in his chair, trying to convince himself that having a staring conversation wasn’t the most interaction he’d had with another being for weeks.  

_“Marco?”_

His heart stopped.

_“Marco, it’s me-”_

“Ace?” he whispered, felt the name pull something inside him that hadn’t even started to heal.

A breathy laugh of relief echoed across the line, crackling faintly, breaking up the words. _“Stars, Marco, you’ve no idea how glad I am to hear your voice.”_

“But- but you-“ he stammered, gripping the edge of his desk and dragging scratches into the wood.

The snail dissolved into static, only the brief snatches of Ace’s voice filtering through, and Marco couldn’t- he couldn’t-

_“And I guess it’s stupid, and there’s so many- there’s so many other things we need to do but- I need to tell you. I mean, I forgot, and you said it so many times but I- I think I love you, too.”_

The pull turned into a yank, spilling Marco’s insides out of the carefully constructed containers he’d put them in, after the battle had ripped him to shreds.

A brutal laugh escaped him, angry and bitter, and it hurt, _gods,_ did it hurt.

“You-” he said, and his hand tightened around the small snail in front of him. “You got one thing wrong in all your information gathering, you star-damned shifter,” he spat, and the line echoed back his words, the being that’d stolen Ace’s voice blissfully silent. “Ace didn’t love me. I think I loved him, with all my heart- but- Ace never loved me."

There was an aborted sound at the other end of the line, but Marco didn’t wait for more words to come through and rip him apart. “Let me grieve in _peace,_ ” he said, and the words dissolved into a half-plead before he slammed down the mouthpiece, cutting off anything else the imposter wanted to say.

Marco didn’t know what he’d do, to keep remembering Ace’s voice.

He curled forwards, hand pressed to his aching chest and trying to fight back the sudden surge of memories that threatened to drown him, the taste of smoke and sweat on his tongue, desperation a note held heavy in the air, the last words he’d ever heard Ace speak-

_“If I- if I don’t get out- I just want to say I think I-”_

_“You’ll get out, Ace. Didn’t I promise?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my darlings!!! And please, if you liked than please leave a review ;u;
> 
> [kyyhky's beautiful art~]
> 
>  **Fun facts!!!**
> 
> Marco did _so much_ that he wasn't supposed to do and worked his way into so many scenes i threw my hands up and gave up
> 
> For some scenes I literally had no idea what was going on until it was done (fucking marco), and one of those scenes was the last, with the battle going on. I didn't know who was going to die (except ace, because it's important for the sequel) but i didn't know who else wasn't going to make it.
> 
> If I had the chance to add more scenes I would. (And i actually probably will, later. When I'm not dying of stress)
> 
> This was meant to only reach 15k. Then it hit 20k. Then it hit 30k. Then i gave up and just let it do whatever the fuck it wanted
> 
> HALF OF THIS WORD COUNT WAS WRITTEN IN MARCH AND I WASN'T DONE UNTIL THE NIGHT BEFORE I WAS MEANT TO POST
> 
> There is a sequel! I may never write it, though, because oh god I don't know if I have it in me to do another big bang I will D I E.


End file.
